


By Design

by AmandaRex



Series: By Design Universe [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Game Industry, Angst, Awkwardness, F/M, FitzSimmons - Freeform, Game Designer AU, Misunderstandings, Romance, Slow Burn, Take Your Fandom to Work Day, background Huntingbird - Freeform, background StaticQuake
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-08
Updated: 2016-05-18
Packaged: 2018-05-31 18:47:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 68,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6482863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmandaRex/pseuds/AmandaRex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jemma Simmons and Leopold Fitz are rival board game designers, each at the top of their profession. They’re offered the opportunity of a lifetime—but only if they can work together. Conflicting work styles, a tight deadline, and utter confusion are all that stand between them and the completion of the most ambitious project either of them have attempted, but what else will they discover along the way?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First, so so many thanks to [lettertoelise](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lettertoelise/pseuds/lettertoelise) for beta work and general fun and tomfoolery. She deserves a medal for laughing at my horrible jokes I leave in the notes on my draft document, but in lieu of getting her an actual medal, my paltry thanks here will have to do.
> 
> I hope you enjoy the story!

"This place," Mack said, leaning toward Fitz as they filed into a nondescript-looking meeting room in the middle of the convention center, "it's not at all what I'd pictured."

"What did you think it would be, then?" Fitz said, pulling Mack to the side to keep a passing Gandalf cosplayer’s staff from connecting with his forehead. 

The Gandalf whirled around, looking stricken once he took in the sheer size of the man behind him. "Dude, sorry. These props are new for me this year and I keep forgetting how long this thing is." His beard was askew and the makeup ‘wrinkles’ on his face were beginning to run, giving his wide, terrified eyes a sympathetic framing as he struggled to apologize.

Mack’s wide, easygoing smile was already in place before the explanation came. "No harm done," he told him, and cosplayer-Gandalf sighed with obvious relief. "Oh, wait a minute. We don’t have a picture with a Gandalf yet. Would you mind taking one with us?"

The kid grinned and straightened his beard a little, then posed, leaning heavily on his staff as Mack switched to the forward-facing camera on his phone and held it in front of them. Fitz poked his head into the corner of the shot and tried to make his tired smile look genuine until the shot was taken.

"When did we start taking selfies with the con-goers?" Fitz asked, after the Gandalf was out of earshot.

"You have a tiny corner of a huge booth this weekend, and there’s a lot of competition here. If some of these people recognize us when they’re in the vendor hall tomorrow, maybe it’ll be easier for you to stop them for a demo," Mack explained, and Fitz wondered how he’d never noticed how much of a criminal mastermind his friend was.

"That’s genius," Fitz told him, clapping him on the back. "Bloody conventions...hours of sitting behind a rickety table with one of those horrible plastic sheets stretched over it, trying to suss out how to look approachable without being creepy. If we look familiar, maybe they’ll stop by without the usual song and dance to get them to sit down. I knew there was a reason I wanted to bring you to this thing."

"Hey, you got my foot in the door with Coulson last year, and now my art is on five of QRG's titles. I owe you, Fitz."

"This is the first time a game of mine has an art style that isn't just what I wanted, but better than what I'd pictured. I'd say we both win."

"We still have ten minutes until this thing’s supposed to start. Should we try to get a few more pictures?" Mack looked around, frowning a little. "Do you know who any of the other cosplayers are supposed to be?"

"All of them," Fitz admitted, grinning sheepishly. "This isn't my first rodeo."

Mack laughed. "That expression sounds strange when I hear it in your accent." 

"Come on, there's a group over there cosplaying Final Fantasy characters. They seem like the sort of people who may be interested in space monkeys, don't you think?"

* * *

Jemma straightened her skirt again, realizing it was a nervous tic, but she didn't seem to be able to stop herself. Daisy was vibrating with energy in the chair next to her, turning left and right and craning her neck to look at the people trickling into the room.

"This place is awesome," Daisy squeaked, then covered her mouth as pure delight seemed to wash over her. "Oh my gosh, that guy over there is dressed up as the Prince from Katamari Damacy."

Jemma turned, smiling a bit in spite of the undercurrent of nervousness she was feeling as she took in the precise details of the costume. "He's included the antenna on top of the headpiece. Some cosplayers might have overlooked that."

Daisy smacked her on the arm. "How could you have never brought me to one of these things before? This is amazing."

Jemma rubbed her arm. "Possibly because I didn't want to endure your physical attacks each time you saw an impressive costume? Also, I have invited you before, but you always made excuses not to come."

"You didn't tell me what it was like. When you told me there wasn't a lot of video gaming at these things, I thought it was, like, a bunch of people playing chess and stuff."

Jemma regarded Daisy with a look of disbelief. "You had to know there were more games here than the classics. You've listened to me prattle on about my design quandaries before we took this last project on together. It must have been clear I wasn't the only person putting out new board games."

"I just...I didn't know there would be so many different things here. And the people! They're into _everything_. Television shows, movies, and I swear, I've seen people dressed as characters from video games even I barely remember, and I've played pretty much every title ever released." Daisy took Jemma's hand, looking around the room with wide, excited eyes. "These are _my people_ ," she whispered, and Jemma laughed.

"Perhaps I won't have to beg you to come with me to the next one?" Jemma asked, laughing again when Daisy immediately began to nod her head. "Even if I can't lure you with the possibility of receiving an award?"

"Do you think we'll win?"

Jemma pursed her lips, not wanting to speculate. She'd been trying to tell herself the real honor was in being nominated at all, along with the sales bump that had come after her game had appeared on the list. If she was being honest, however, she had to admit she was hoping the weeks of meticulous testing and tuning of the game system she'd designed would garner her one of the trophies lining the table at the front of the room.

"I think you have a much better chance than I do," Jemma said, thinking of the heavy-hitters she was up against in the Family Board Game category. Daisy's work on the companion app for her game was, in Jemma's opinion, far and away the finest entry in the Accessory or Special Feature category.

"Ugh, that would be _so_ not fair. You did all the real work. All I did was a couple weekends of coding, and you gave me most of the specs. Any halfway decent app slinger could have done the same work I turned out."

"Not true," Jemma said, upset that Daisy would give herself so little credit. "You made all the streamlining suggestions, and I could never have designed the user interface you came up with. You should be proud of what you've done."

"Thanks," Daisy said, a faint touch of pink coloring her cheeks. "Anyway, do you recognize anyone? See any of the competition?"

Jemma looked down at the program in her hands, scanning the list of nominated designers and artists for anyone she knew. Most of the names were familiar, but there was no one she would know on sight.

"I don't think I've met any of the other nominees before. I'm not sure how many of them will even be here tonight. Sometimes these awards ceremonies are sparsely attended."

"You mean to tell me there are game designers who have something better to do than be in Ohio on a random weekend in the middle of the summer?" Daisy's amusement peeked through the sarcasm on the surface, and Jemma laughed. 

"It may not seem like the flashiest location, but this weekend is a great time to network. Most of us are contractors, after all, always trying to sell a new design to one of the big publishers, or at least secure a little consulting work. We're scattered all over the world, so we have to make the best of these opportunities when they arise." Jemma kept scanning the room, smiling as her eyes fell on a perfect example of what she'd been telling Daisy. "Ah, speak of the devil. This is what I was talking about. Over there, the man in the impeccably tailored suit? He's the head of QRG."

"QRG, like, the publishers of the game you're nominated for?" Daisy asked, as Jemma caught Coulson's eye and waved to him.

"Yes, and you should make a point to speak with him this evening, if you can. I wasn't embellishing things when I told you how impressed he was with your coding and interface design skills." Coulson began to cross the room towards them as Jemma leaned closer to Daisy to keep their discussion private. "You could find yourself being offered a contract or two if we give him an opportunity to reflect on how your work could enhance a few of his upcoming titles."

"Dude, I could use the work. The podcast player app I released this month is tanking. Hard," Daisy admitted, poking Jemma in the side as Phil Coulson broke away from yet another conversation he'd been pulled into to move toward them. "He's coming! What do I say? Do I introduce myself? Are you going to wingman me or something?"

"I'll take care of it. I'll give you the perfect opening, all right?" Jemma's smile widened as Coulson reached them.

"Jemma Simmons, glad you could make it. I have my fingers crossed for you," Coulson said, clasping Jemma's hand briefly in both of his.

"I'm sure you say the same to all the nominees," Jemma replied.

"Just the ones I've published," he said, and Jemma noticed him glancing at Daisy.

"Speaking of nominees under the QRG umbrella, this is Daisy Johnson. I'm sure one of those trophies already has her name engraved on it," Jemma said, stepping to the side to allow Daisy to shake Coulson's hand as well.

"Ms. Johnson, we finally meet in person. That was great work you did on the app for Jemma's game. My marketing director told me sales for the physical game saw a hell of a second spike once we went live with the companion app."

"I was lucky to have such great material to work with," Daisy said, putting her hand on Jemma's shoulder. "This was her baby. I'm happy to have the skills to help support it."

Coulson slipped a business card out of an interior jacket pocket, then pressed it into Daisy's hands. "We can do more business with a few titles I have coming up, if you're interested."

"I may have room in my schedule to take on a new project or two," Daisy said, seeming interested without also seeming desperate, and Jemma envied her ability to play it cool so effectively. 

"Excellent," Coulson said, then turned to Jemma. "As for you, I have a specific proposal in mind, and I'd love to find a time to talk it over sometime this weekend. Are you free after the vendor hall closes tomorrow?"

"For you, of course I can be," Jemma said, intrigued at the prospect of starting another game. She'd been toying with new ideas for currency generation mechanics and she was dying to try them out in something other than sets of generic test cases.

"I have a conference room at my hotel booked tomorrow evening at eight o'clock."

Jemma nodded. "It's a date, Mr. Coulson," she said, correcting herself at his comically exasperated look. "Phil. I know. You've asked me a million times to call you Phil."

"Tomorrow then. I'll text you the details. And good luck this evening, both of you." Coulson gave them a last nod, then crossed the room, moving with purpose toward two men taking selfies with a group of cosplayers.

"Interesting," Jemma said, watching as Coulson pulled the shorter of the two men aside. "I wonder who they could be?"

"You want me to find out?" Daisy asked, leaning closer to Jemma and speaking in a stage whisper. "I can be really sneaky. I could go eavesdrop and they'd never notice me."

"No, thank you, James Bond. I'm sure if I need to know who they are, I'll find out. If I don't...well, it would hardly matter then, would it?"

* * *

Shifting in her chair, Jemma watched as Daisy yet again signaled her dismay at being waylaid after the ceremony. The winners had been asked to stay behind and pose for promotional photos by the convention staff, a process the photographer had promised would take "just a few moments". A half hour later, the young man was still adjusting his lighting rig and changing lenses as he put different combinations of people together.

Daisy had been so surprised to win, still looking around the room at the other nominees when her name was called, and Jemma'd had to prod her to get up and accept her trophy. Though Jemma had reminded her friend several times that she wasn't expecting to win the Family Game category, Daisy had been upset when another game won, grumbling under her breath when the winner wasn't even in attendance. While Jemma appreciated her support and loyalty, she didn't want it to come at the expense of Daisy celebrating her own win. 

Looking up at her friend smiling for yet another group photo, she decided they should get away from the convention area after Daisy was done, go out somewhere fun. She hoped a few drinks and some terrible karaoke would show Daisy that she wasn't upset, and was in fact thrilled that Daisy had been recognized. There was a cute little pub she'd found the previous year, and she was trying to remember if it was near the west or north entrance to the convention hall when she realized the man sitting a few seats away seemed to be speaking to her. He was looking at her, his eyebrows raised, as though he'd asked her a question and was waiting for a response.

"I'm sorry, I'm afraid I was in a bit of a convention haze. I didn't quite catch what you were saying."

"It's all right, I know just what you mean," he replied, and she was a bit shocked to hear his somewhat thick Scottish brogue. They certainly weren't the only two people at the convention from outside the United States, but she'd grown so accustomed to the hard Rs and flat vowels of typical American speech that it was always a pleasant surprise to hear an accent from closer to home. "I was trying to ask," he began, looking down at the program in his hands and tracing a line with his finger, "you're Jemma Simmons, aren't you?"

Jemma barely had the time to nod, halfway through a breath to respond to him, when he began to speak again.

"I'm sorry you didn't...er...I mean, it's a shame that..." he stammered, gesturing helplessly with the program he held in his lap.

"That my game didn't win?" she asked, wondering why he would have started this conversation with her when he seemed so uncomfortable. "Thank you, but I'm fine. I wasn't expecting to win."

He nodded, looking as though he had something else he wanted to say, but when he didn't continue, she looked forward again, her eyes darting around as she tried to think of some way to make the situation less uncomfortable.

"Are you waiting for someone?" she asked, deciding after a moment's thought that anything would be better than the somewhat painful silence they'd been stuck in together.

"My friend Mack," he said, gesturing to a tall, broad man who was being posed by the convention photographer. "He won for—"

"Art Design," Jemma finished, then winced a little as she cut him off. It was a terrible habit of hers, finishing other people's sentences. Daisy had taken to smirking good-naturedly at her whenever she did it, but Jemma still couldn't seem to break herself of it. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have interrupted you."

"No, that's all right," he told her, seeming relieved, if anything, that they'd found something to talk about. The relief disappeared when they fell into another lull, but his expression brightened just before he started to speak again. "So...you're waiting as well?" he asked, looking at his program again. "For Daisy Johnson? She wrote the companion app for your game, didn't she?"

"Yes," she said, beaming toward the stage as Daisy leaned into the group of award winners for yet another photograph. "I don't know if you've had a chance to see her work, but that win was well-deserved."

"I've used it, actually, the app," he said, the words coming faster, his voice raising in volume as he got more excited. "I've played your game and tried the app. It's excellent, the way they work together, but even more amazing how well the game works with or without it. I thought it was—" He cut himself off abruptly, looking away. "Sorry, perhaps I was getting a little carried away. It's just...the idea of a companion app. I think it's great. It's something I might want to do in the future, and..." he stammered as he looked down again, but this time, at the floor.

She wasn't sure how she should respond. He'd complimented her game, but he'd gone on to stop just short of taking it back and she wasn't sure if she should thank him or not. She decided to gloss over it, as he'd seemed embarrassed once he'd caught himself praising her work, and use the time to do a little networking for Daisy instead.

"If you're looking for app development, I don't think you could do better than Daisy. In fact, you should speak to her soon. The quality of her app already speaks for itself, and now that it's won an award, I'm sure her skills will be in demand."

"It just occurred to me that I haven't even introduced myself," he said, and when their eyes met again, she felt as though she was noticing him for the first time. "I'm Fitz. Well, Leo Fitz, but everyone just calls me Fitz. I designed _Space Monkey Rescue_." He held out his hand, and Jemma cautiously shook it.

"Jemma Sim—" she said, cutting off her introduction when she remembered he already knew who she was. "Well, it looks like the trophy eluded both of us this year. I've played your game, by the way," she offered. "It's a lot of fun. You certainly deserved the nomination."

"Thanks," he said, and he seemed to be struggling a bit again to find something to say. "You deserved yours as well. Your design work is meticulous. I expect the quality had to be that high for an educational tabletop game to be nominated in this category."

Jemma took a deep breath and counted to five before saying anything, as she was beyond tired of hearing that particular description of her work. "While I won't deny that the player may learn a fact or two about world geography while they play my game, the central goal is to engage and challenge each player's strategic skills."

"And have fun?" he suggested, and it seemed paradoxical how much more at ease he seemed now that they were dipping into territory that felt a little more contentious.

"I happen to find a solid strategic test quite fun to engage in," she said, raising her eyebrow at Fitz, daring him to contradict her.

"Oh, I agree," he insisted. "I started out with chess, myself. I wouldn't be surprised if you told me you had, as well, given how analytical your work is. Thinking five, ten, fifteen moves ahead. Maneuvering, baiting your opponent into making a mistake, misdirections. I just get the feeling..." he said, pausing as thought through what he was about to say, "...the smartest person at the table playing one of your games could probably play the entire thing without being surprised even once."

She should probably be more insulted than she actually felt, but it had been a long time since she'd spoken to anyone who could engage her in a real conversation about the core fundamentals of game design theory.

"Is that not the point of a game? At its core, it's a contest. Should we be creating games where the most skilled player, the player who plays the cleanest, most error-free game, isn't particularly likely to win? Because of...what? Random elements included in the name of fun, but serving mostly to subvert the core, inherent challenge of gaming, instead replacing it with haphazard aimlessness?"

He blinked at her, looking surprised, but not particularly angry. "I suppose you're saying my games may as well be a random number generator, for all the skill they require to win?"

She gasped a little, surprised by his frankness again. "I wouldn't dream of—"

"Go ahead, Simmons. I can take a little constructive criticism," he said, cutting her off, the sparkle in his icy blue eyes practically begging her to intensify their debate.

She paused, feeling strangely off-balance about the way he'd begun to refer to her by her last name. From anyone else, it would have felt like a distancing tactic. From him, it felt just the opposite, almost uncomfortably familiar.

"I don't think you could deny there's an element of randomness in your work, Mr. Fitz."

"Just 'Fitz', please."

"Well...Fitz," she began, the name feeling strange on her lips, "your reliance on pure chance as part of the fundamental structure of your games may lead to more excitement and tension in certain cases, it also leads to an apathy on the part of a player. If their actions aren't the greatest determining factor in their success or failure, why should they engage with the game at all? I'm not against chance being factored in, of course, but carefully. For example, used in cases where the player can assess the risk of the randomness affecting them, and plan for contingencies."

"I bet you've never left your house without an umbrella when there's a chance of rain in the forecast," he said, leaning back in his chair and looking at her thoughtfully.

"I don't," she said, stammering a little as she tried to think of some sort of witty comeback, so she took a moment to collect her thoughts. "I don't know how proud I should be of getting rained on when a little planning would have kept me dry."

He chuckled a little. "We see things fairly differently, I suppose."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Daisy moving toward her, now free of the demands of the photographer. She stood up, holding her hand out for Fitz to shake as she began to plot a quick getaway from this vaguely unsettling exchange. "It was lovely to meet you, Fitz. Perhaps we'll run into each other on the convention circuit?"

He took her hand, holding it more than shaking it, and gazed up at her. "Perhaps we will. I'd be happy to discuss more design theory with you another time."

She nodded, gathering her things and hurrying over to Daisy, who seemed troublingly curious about the man Jemma had been talking to.

"Who's—" Daisy began, but Jemma cut her off.

"Another designer," Jemma answered, hoping to leave it at that. "He was waiting for the winner in the Art Design category. But enough about that," she said, rapidly changing the subject. "I know the best place near here to get a drink and listen to some horrible karaoke. You and your statue are coming with me."

They headed out, Jemma pretending to have full confidence in her memory of how to get to the pub as she tried to put Fitz out of her mind. It sounded like his design process was entirely different from her own. If his criticisms seemed to hit a little too close to home, it was probably because she was already feeling a bit of a sting after not winning the award.


	2. Chapter 2

_The next evening_

Fitz groaned as he stood up, stretching his arms over his head and rolling his neck from side to side until he heard a satisfying crack. Mack winced tiredly at him, pulling a horrible face at the noise.

"Man, I know we're both creaky after doing our time at these demo tables today, but do you have to do that? Sounds like you're breaking your damn neck," Mack groused, but there was no real bite to it.

"I'll stop," Fitz promised. "It's the least I can do after you helped me all day, even after I tried to send you off to check out the competition in the rest of the exhibit hall."

"I'm happy to do it, Fitz. That's why I'm here, right?"

"Yeah, but you need to spend some time away from the booth as well. Make some contacts. Check out Artist's Alley and see what your potential rivals are doing." At Mack's hesitant look, Fitz continued, "I know you don't really want to. I don't like doing it either. I wish it was all about the work, but it's not. You can't get the work unless you make the contacts."

"Speaking of that, aren't you going to be late?" Mack said, pointedly looking down at his watch.

"Shite. Yeah, definitely late. I've got a lot of ground to cover through this convention crowd and five minutes to do it in." Fitz began to hurriedly push game pieces and cards into their boxes, cursing under his breath again when he saw the state of their demo tables.

"Go, Fitz. I got this," Mack said, blocking Fitz's hands with his arm. "Go get yourself another contract so you can throw me some more work."

Fitz grinned, taking another look at his watch. "Thanks. Shouldn't keep Coulson waiting."

* * *

The walk over had been difficult, Fitz weaving through group after group of gamers and cosplayers hanging out in the hallways after the closure of the exhibit hall. He'd gotten turned around after going out the wrong exit from the convention center, finding himself disoriented for a moment before he got going in the right direction again. Halving his attention between his phone and trying not to bump into anyone, he brought up the text from Coulson with the meeting details he'd been sent.

Once at the hotel, Fitz asked the concierge for directions to the conference room, trying not to sound out of breath from the quick pace he'd kept up on the way there. Fitz swore softly under his breath when the man pointed out there were no fewer than fifteen conference rooms, and he got his directions only after the concierge tapped into the reservation system to identify which one had been reserved by QRG.

"Thanks!" Fitz called, over his shoulder, and he caught just enough of the man's 'I really hate gaming convention week' look to smirk a little as he ran.

One pace away from the door, Fitz paused for a moment to straighten his t-shirt and brush his hands down the front of his jeans, wishing yet again he'd thought to bring a jacket or something with him that morning to make him look a little less fresh-off-the-demo-tables before meeting with Coulson. QRG had deep pockets, a result of Coulson's almost uncanny ability to spot a great game with a lot of sales potential. A contract with them was almost guaranteed to be an excellent opportunity.

After one last deep breath, he turned the door handle and walked in. His eyes fell on Coulson, sitting at the head of a long conference table, but as he took another step, he realized he wasn't the only person here to meet with the head of QRG.

"Glad you could join us, Fitz," Coulson said, gesturing to an empty chair to his left.

Fitz sat down, then looked up and locked eyes with a very surprised-looking Jemma Simmons.

* * *

"Jemma Simmons, this is Leopold Fitz. You might be familiar with his current release, Space—"

"Monkey Rescue," Jemma finished, realizing belatedly that her terrible habit of finishing other people's sentences had reared its unfortunate head again, and had chosen a rather awkward moment to do it. "Yes, we've met."

"Last night at the ceremony," Fitz added, cocking his head to the side and leaning back as he peered at her. "We had a very interesting talk about chance and randomness in game design...how the element of surprise can increase a player's enjoyment of a game."

She narrowed her eyes at him, wondering if he was intentionally trying to put her off balance. They were so different, she realized, looking at the way he slouched in his chair, still wearing the _Space Monkey Rescue_ shirt he must have worn all day as he promoted his game. She had left the convention hall to run back to her hotel and change out of the casual attire she'd worn earlier, but now she felt stuffy and formal in contrast to Fitz.

Coulson was always full of surprises, and his sense of humor was odd enough that it was easy to believe he'd called them both here to compare them, to determine which of them was the best fit for the project he had in mind. If he'd decided to put them both on the spot, head-to-head, she needed to be ready to give a competing pitch for herself and her skills. 

Jemma tilted her head right back at Fitz, deciding that she had no intention of walking away without the contract Coulson seemed to be dangling in front of them. She merely had to underscore her track record of solid designs, delivered on time, each one tailored exactly to his specifications.

"Yes, that was an excellent discussion. Though, as I recall, we also spoke about the importance of a flawless, meticulously-crafted system that fully engages the players in a challenging strategic battle." She smiled sweetly at Fitz, wondering what tactics he would use to try to win the contract over her.

Coulson stood up, shoving his chair back and leaning forward as he braced his hands on the table. He looked at them, an amused look on his face, then pulled two file folders out of his briefcase and slid one to each of them.

"Take a look at those," Coulson said. "I'll need you to give them back before you leave the room. It's confidential information, which I can only let you keep if we have a signed contract and non-disclosure agreement in place."

Jemma opened to the first page, her eyes widening as she took in the one-sheet proposal on top of the packet. Underneath a generic mockup image of a board game, everything seemed pretty standard until she took in the number of units and proposed budget. This wasn't a bid for a niche game that would be sold in hobby shops, almost exclusively to gaming enthusiasts. Coulson was looking to go mass market with this project, and on a huge scale. Scanning quickly through the next few pages, she found the rest of the information vague in the extreme, filled with placeholders and blacked out sections.

"What's the tie-in here? What license is this for?" Fitz asked, looking as intrigued as Jemma was feeling herself.

"Can't tell you that," Coulson said, quickly. "Might not be cleared to tell you that until the very end of the process, if you do land the gig. The client is _extremely_ concerned about information leaking online. I can tell you this much," Coulson paused, looking at each of them in turn with a very serious look on his face. "I believe a good game, themed to this particular intellectual property? It could easily move this many units. Maybe more."

Jemma sat back, her mind whirling with several thoughts at once. She was undeniably interested in the opportunity, of course, as any game designer with the least bit of ambition would be. She'd be lying to herself if she didn't admit she had reservations, however. Mass market was hardly her target audience. Her designs were too complex to appeal to a wider consumer base, and honestly, she wasn't sure how well she could execute a simpler, more accessible system.

She cut off the riotous noise of her conflicting thoughts, examining Fitz and Coulson to try to get a read on why they were here and what Coulson's game was, pitting the two of them against each other. Fitz appeared to be similarly lost in thought, but as she looked at him, she got a terrible, sinking feeling. He was undoubtedly a better choice for this particular project. Fitz's designs were much better suited to a larger audience—lighter, and much more casual.

Coulson was the first one to break the silence. "Fitz, if I could read your mind, I'd say you're about to start pitching me add-ons. You've already calculated the profit margin on a project of this magnitude, and you think this is finally your chance to talk me into some gadget or some other programmable gimmick item to add a little tech to the stale, boxed game format. Am I right?"

Fitz leaned forward, his hands moving restlessly before he even began to speak. "You have to admit, it's the perfect opportunity. You're going to need something, a hook, a _gimmick_ , if you're going to insist on calling it that, to catch people's attention to move this many units. I don't care if the game's going to be based on the most popular license of the century, you're going to need something more if you mean to shoot for the moon like this."

"And yet, even though this sounds like your dream project, you're worried about pulling it off, aren't you? Can you integrate all the pieces and deliver a foolproof, reliable game system on this scale? That's what you're asking yourself," Coulson said, and Fitz's previously animated hands fell to the table.

"I can do it," Fitz said, but quietly, his tone not nearly as persuasive. 

"And you, Jemma. You're clearly interested, and if I gave you the contract, I know I'd have something in my hands on time, within budget. You'd give me a smoothly-running, well-tuned game engine. No disasters, no hiccups. Total reliability," Coulson said, but then he paused, his gaze boring into her. "But you're concerned, too. The mass market audience has you spooked, doesn't it? You're worried you can't hit the mark, that your design would be too complicated."

"It's just another puzzle to solve," she said, trying to put every last shred of her self-confidence behind her words. "Just because the games I've sold you have all been on the more elaborate side, I'm not incapable of creating something more streamlined."

"Jemma," Coulson began, laughing a little. "The shortest first draft of a rules booklet you've ever delivered to me was 35 pages long, and you insisted at the time that you'd already simplified the system as much as anyone could." When Fitz smirked at that, Coulson rounded on him. "And you, Fitz. You have a thousand innovative, unique ideas for every game you work on. That would be great, except that 999 of them completely break the underlying system."

"Could I ask," Jemma cut in, beginning to feel a bit annoyed that she'd been brought here simply to hear a list of her shortcomings along with Fitz's, "why we're all here? You've made it rather clear you don't think either of us can deliver the product you need."

Coulson sat down again, leaning back in the chair and crossing his arms over his chest. "I don't think either of you can give me what I need...on your own."

Jemma's eyes darted from Coulson to Fitz, and she groaned when she realized what Coulson was leading up to.

"Before you say anything, keep an open mind and think it over. You both want the contract. If you don't, then there's something wrong, because I think this is an amazing opportunity. You have concerns, though, because you're both pragmatic and you know your own strengths and weaknesses. Look across from you. Sitting in that other chair? That person is the perfect complement to your own skillset."

"Coulson, look," Fitz began, and Jemma was exasperated with herself that she'd allowed Fitz to have the first opportunity to speak. "You didn't bring up anything I wasn't already thinking, but you know that. This would, by far, be the biggest project I've ever taken on, and yes, I think I'd need a lot of testing and quality assurance to help me nail down the final game system. I don't think it would be as impossible to do on my own as you've made it sound."

"But why bloat the testing budget at all? Why take the risk of missing your deadline, or worse, the final design being flawed, if it isn't necessary?" Jemma asked, not wanting Fitz to put too much of his own proposal forward without Coulson hearing from her. "I feel certain I can create a simpler game system than my previous work. It's a matter of editing."

Fitz scoffed and she glared at him, eyes blazing, silently daring him to contradict her.

"Simmons is one of the best designers working, I can't argue with that. Absolutely stellar at what she does." Fitz turned to her, his face neutral against the irritation she was making no attempt to cover. "You've got...what? Five major design credits?"

"Six," she corrected him, her voice icy. "Two more than you," she added, and she immediately regretted divulging how much she knew about him. She'd googled him on her phone the previous night from the bar while Daisy wasn't looking, but she didn't really need Fitz to know how curious she'd been about him after their brief, but memorable conversation with each other.

"If you look up any of those six games on Board Game Geek, I'm sure she's got great reviews. What do you average, around 9.5 out of 10?"

"I don't really track that," she said, hating how easily he'd made such an accurate guess. He had to be going somewhere with this, as he certainly wasn't putting this sort of effort into talking up her work instead of his own without an ulterior motive.

"Right," he agreed. "Maybe you don't keep an eye on your stats, but I'm probably within a tenth or two." He paused again, a little smirk on his face. "I'll just bet the nine or ten reviews you have are amazing," he said, his voice leaning heavily into the numbers. "My averages might be a tiny bit lower, but I've got hundreds of positive reviews. My work can attract a larger audience."

"If you're saying my games aren't successful from a sales standpoint, you'd be wrong," she said, feeling triumphant that he was so far off the mark. "The work I've sold to QRG has an excellent profit to investment ratio."

"That's because the markup in the strategy-heavy genre is insane," Fitz countered. "Coulson can charge a premium for your games. The target audience values the strategic intricacy so highly that they'll pay almost any ridiculous sum to give themselves migraines trying to dissect your rulebook long enough to figure out how to play." Fitz turned to Coulson, effectively dismissing his dialogue with Jemma. "If you want mass market, you have to go with someone who can deliver something a wider audience will be interested in."

"Fitz is right about a few things," Jemma began, not allowing Coulson any time to respond. "His games certainly are fun. Whimsical, even. Light. I played his monkey game with a group of friends a couple of months ago. It was extremely enjoyable..." she paused, waiting for a moment before finishing her thought, "...until the fifth turn, when it became clear to everyone at the table that the winner was now a foregone conclusion, and there was nothing any of the rest of us could do about it."

Fitz's jaw was set and she noted that his fingers were whitening where he was leaning against the table. She'd played a little dirty, exaggerating a bit about her experience with his game, but it was no more misleading than when he'd brutally lowballed the number of reviews her games had received. Her intention hadn't been to actually make him angry, but perhaps there was no way around that if she was to make her full case to Coulson.

Coulson shook his head, holding up both hands, one palm pointed at each of them in a silent plea to stop. "I'm really in a bind here," he told them. "I don't know any designer who can give me what I need on their own, including either of you. You can both deliver part of what I'm looking for, and together, I'm pretty sure you could knock this one out of the park. If you both sign and agree to work together, we've got a deal. If not, I'll have to shelve the project entirely. It's too much of a risk for QRG otherwise."

Jemma decided to take one more shot at getting the contract on her own. "If you're looking for something more on the cutting edge, I can bring Daisy in on the project with me. Our last collaboration was quite fruitful, as you know." 

"I'm banking on Daisy's involvement in the project," Coulson admitted. "I think having the two of you on core design, Daisy on a mobile tie-in, and Fitz's associate Mack on art design is the best team I could put together for this." 

Fitz appeared to be on the verge of saying something, but after two deep breaths followed only with frustrated silence, it seemed he had run out of arguments. He looked rather upset, as though he'd been counting on this meeting leading to a job. Jemma had also hoped to use this weekend to land a substantial project for herself, and it was beyond disappointing to come so close to a promising prospect only to have to leave the deal on the table.

"It's nothing against Fitz," Jemma heard herself say, the words slipping out before she'd really thought them over. "I have a great deal of respect for his work, my previous criticism notwithstanding. I simply feel our working styles are too different to integrate. I can't guarantee we'd be effective as a team, and I'm not sure I'd feel comfortable committing myself to the project under those circumstances."

"Yes," Fitz said, raising his head and snapping his fingers as he gestured toward Jemma. "That's exactly it. Simmons is obviously brilliant, I'm not disputing that. It's just...we've both worked alone for so long. Neither of us could predict if we'd be able to work with anyone else, let alone someone who uses a completely different approach." Fitz looked down at the file folder, tapping it nervously with his thumb, "A project this big doesn't seem like the time to gamble on so many unknowns."

"I'd agree with you, Fitz, if I saw any other way to make it happen." Coulson reached for the materials he'd shown them, and Jemma noticed that both she and Fitz held onto their folders for an extra second before they loosened their grip and let Coulson take them back. "I anticipated some resistance from both of you, so I had these drawn up," he continued, pulling two identical contracts out of his briefcase and giving one to each of them. "Deal's available until the end of the weekend. All you have to do is sign your contract and the non-disclosure and get it to me before I get on my flight Sunday evening. If I end up with two signed contracts, we'll talk logistics from there." Before Jemma or Fitz could respond, Coulson smiled at them and strode out of the conference room.

Jemma looked down at the papers, brushing her fingers over the words and wishing she could sign it. It wasn't just that she needed work, though she did, if she was being honest. This was her chance to show that she could do more than the kind of work she'd done before. She'd been typecast, but the most frustrating part was that those assumptions weren't entirely off the mark. She wanted to be more than this, to produce something new and surprising, but she couldn't tell Coulson he was wrong to believe otherwise. She didn't know if she could do it on her own.

"It's a shame, isn't it?" Fitz's voice came from across the table. When she looked up, he was also staring rather sadly at the papers in front of him, a pensive look on his face. "Every designer's dream contract. We just don't know if we should sign it." He looked up, frowning after a moment. "Actually, it seems your mind's made up. Not much point to considering it if you've already decided to pass." He got up, gathering the pages of the contract almost as an afterthought, and turned to leave.

"Wait," she heard herself say, and he froze a few paces from the door. "I want to apologize."

He turned, his hand coming up to scratch the back of his neck as he stared at her. "I'm not sure what you think you have to apologize for."

"I lied," she admitted, but as that wasn't quite right, she decided to elaborate. "I purposefully exaggerated to give Coulson the wrong impression of my experience with your game." At Fitz's silence, she continued. "It wasn't turn five when I could see who the winner would be, it was closer to the midway point. Not everyone at the table figured it out, either. It was just two of us who saw it, and we all had fun playing, regardless." Jemma stared at the table, feeling worse about what she'd done now that she'd explicitly explained it.

Fitz came back, dropping heavily into the chair opposite her again, and he leaned down to catch her eye. She'd assumed he'd be angry, but if anything, he looked as contrite as she felt.

"I knew exactly how many design credits you have," he admitted. "Your games average a 9.8 out of 10 on 70 to 80 reviews each, except your first title, which is a 9.3 with about 25 reviews. My first title, by contrast, hovers around a 7 out of 10, and that's forgiving. There's an unbelievably positive reception of your work, and from more than a handful of people. You aren't the niche designer with a tiny target audience that I was trying to make you out to be."

Jemma's mouth fell open and she stared at him, trying to understand how he could rattle off those statistics for her work when she couldn't do that herself.

"My reservations," she began, "...they aren't personal. It's much more about myself than you. I'm stubborn and rather rigid. During group projects in school, the other students never had the least idea what I was talking about. I'd eventually shoo them all away and finish it on my own."

Fitz laughed a little at that, and she joined him, grateful to feel the mood lightening. "I'm fairly set in my ways, myself. I'd probably drive you spare after the first day."

"It really is a shame," she told him, letting her gaze run over his easy smile, the hard line of his jaw, and the shock of his blue eyes. "If it were at all possible, it might have been fun."

Several moments ticked by as the two of them stared at each other, neither of them breaking the stalemate until there was a loud crash in the hallway outside the conference room. That seemed to break them out of the spell, both of them clearing their throats and looking away.

"I should really meet up with Mack," Fitz said, standing and moving quickly away. "Nice to see you, Simmons," he added as he swung the door open, disappearing through it before she could respond.

She looked at the contract again, then bent to get a pen out of her bag before she could change her mind. A moment later, she was initialing each section, then signing and dating the back page. Evicting a sheaf of her notes from a manilla envelope she was carrying with her, she slipped the pages of the contract into it instead, then put Coulson's name on the front.

As she dropped it off at the hotel's front desk, she told herself there was no reason to be nervous. It didn't matter what she did. There was a zero percent chance that Fitz would sign his copy, especially after the strong resistance he'd shown toward the idea of working with her.

* * *

"All right," Fitz said, smiling at the group of people clustered around his demo table. "It seems we have our winner." They all clapped for the grinning, but embarrassed-looking teenager who'd just gotten his last monkey counter back to his ship.

"Let's hear it for Jeff!" the kid's dad said, which made Jeff's smile even wider.

"It was just luck," Jeff pointed out. "I drew that armor card a few turns ago and I don't think anyone could have caught me after that. You probably should have won, dad. You made all the good moves, and you really almost had me."

Fitz turned his back, getting the box of buttons they were giving out to the winners of the demo games, grateful to have this excuse to hide his expression. Everything this kid had to say about his game reminded him of Simmons and the embarrassingly astute criticisms she'd brought forward about his work at their meeting with Coulson. 

"Our winner can choose a button, and if you buy your own copy of _Space Monkey Rescue_ , you can show it to the cashier for a ten percent discount." He looked down at the box and pushed the buttons around. "Looks like you can pick from cotton-top tamarin, white-headed capuchin, or lion-tailed macaque." He held the three buttons up, but nearly dropped them back into the box when he saw Jemma Simmons hovering just outside his section of the booth.

Jeff chose his button and the crowd of players dispersed, disappearing back into the throng of convention attendees. Simmons stepped forward, and he gestured to a chair, inviting her to sit while they spoke.

"I don't have a lot of time," she said, taking another step toward the table and standing between the chairs instead. "Daisy's covering my booth on her own and I should really get back."

"Okay, Simmons. What can I do for—"

"You've signed it," she said, cutting him off abruptly. "The contract. From Coulson. You signed it."

He couldn't help it, but as soon as she started to nervously stammer and wring her hands, he smiled at her. There was something about seeing someone so meticulous and well-spoken off balance, incapable of forming full sentences, and repeating herself. He couldn't help it, though he had a feeling she wouldn't find anything more enraging right now than him grinning at her like an idiot.

"I did," he confirmed, and she winced for a moment before she composed herself again. "I was sick of staring at the bloody thing, so I signed it and gave it to Coulson this morning when he stopped by the booth. I knew it wouldn't matter, because you were..." he slowed down, taking in her body language and dismayed expression, "...never...going to sign it."

"I signed mine," she admitted, and they stared at each other in a dazed silence before Fitz asked the first question that came to mind.

"When?"

"It was—what does it matter when I did it?" she asked, looking annoyed for a moment before she got out her phone, changing the subject entirely. "Did you see this message from Coulson?"

"I have my mobile silenced while I'm working," he explained. He could tell from the way she avoided his question that she had signed the contract before he did, and it seemed to be embarrassing to her. "Simmons...Coulson's a reasonable man. If you or I went to him and told him it had been a mistake to sign the contract, he'd let us out. I'd be willing to do it, if you're worried his reaction might affect future work with him."

"You regret it?" she asked, and though he was sure he was imagining it, she looked a little hurt.

"I didn't say that," he said, and watched as she pursed her lips together in frustration. "I'll admit, I thought you weren't interested, so it would matter what I did, but I wouldn't have signed it if I wasn't willing to follow through."

She nodded, one curt bob of her head, and she continued as though neither of them had ever expressed any doubt. "He'd like us to coordinate with each other, come up with some sort of working schedule. He's set a budget for travel. It's quite generous," she told him, and he skimmed the message as he took in what she was saying.

"Generous doesn't begin to cover it," he said, realizing that Coulson meant for one or the other of them to basically relocate to another city for most of the duration of the project. "This is enough for one of us to live out of a hotel for weeks..." he mumbled, doing the calculations in his head. "Months," he amended.

"Where do you live?" she asked, and he struggled to answer the question in the face of all the other uncertainties hanging between them.

"Boston," he finally choked out. "I'm flexible until the end of the summer, but I'll need to be home before mid-August." He shook his head, wanting to pull the conversation away from logistics and figure out how he'd gotten himself here. "Do you think it's necessary for us to be in the same city to work together?"

"Coulson knows we've both never designed anything with a partner before," she said, supplying the answer so readily he's sure she's already argued this to Coulson and lost. "He feels that working face-to-face, at least at first, will enhance our ability to transition into our collaboration."

She was refusing to look at him, staring down at the information on her phone, and he wondered how they'd ever manage to produce a game together if they couldn't even look at each other.

"Why did you sign?" he asked, putting his hand over the screen she was staring at when she didn't answer him.

She pulled back, wrapping her arms around herself. "Why did you?"

He laughed. "I asked you first," he pointed out, but he softened when he saw the worried look in her eyes. "Seems sort of childish to insist on you going first just because of that, though. I signed because—"

"Was it just to stay in Coulson's good graces? You didn't want to be the one blocking the project, and you were counting on me to hold out?" she asked, the words almost overlapping each other in her rush to get them out.

"I can't believe either of us design and play games for a living. Neither of us were thinking more than one move ahead." He took a deep breath, wanting to reassure her after the worried look began to creep back into her features. "I'm relieved, if I'm honest, that he made our involvement conditional on working together. I'd make a hash of things on my own."

"You're not being fair to yourself," she said. "You'd deliver something much closer to what he wants than I'd be able to give him."

Fitz shrugged. "I don't know if that's true, Simmons, but I think Coulson was right about one thing."

"About?" she asked, but he had a feeling she knew exactly what he meant.

"I think we can get this done, as long as we can work together for a few months without killing each other. What do you think?"

"All right," she said, a slow smile blooming over her face. "We could be ready for testing by the time you need to be back in Boston, in mid-August. Do you have a group of testers you'd trust for that?"

He nodded. "A half-dozen or so at least. Possibly more, if we need them. If testing's to be in Boston, I'll come to you for the initial design. Only seems fair. I can get there as soon as you can begin," he offered.

"I'm free starting Monday, and we'll need as much time as we can get. Book a flight to D.C. as soon as you can get away. There's an extended stay hotel not too far from my apartment. I'll send you the link," she said, and he couldn't get over how surreal it seemed to be making plans this quickly.

"Shake on it?" he asked, holding his hand out, but he was strangely overcome the moment they touched. He'd been intrigued by the unique feel of her games, very different from the designs he produced himself, and had found himself looking for an excuse to talk to her at the awards ceremony. Meeting Jemma Simmons in person, however, had done nothing but make her more compelling to him.

As she shook his hand, they didn't seem like rival game designers struggling to find a way to work together. It felt more like the beginning of something, and when he looked into her eyes, he realized his admiration of her might not be limited to the professional. That just made it more important for him to hide his reaction to her, especially as he imagined he was not the first man in the gaming industry to develop a crush on her. They would be working together, and she deserved to be treated professionally.

He told himself that, shoving down his reaction to the feel of her soft skin against his, even for the brief moment their hands clasped to seal their temporary partnership.


	3. Chapter 3

Fitz tapped at the steering wheel, his fingers restless as his phone directed him through the last few turns before he arrived at the address Simmons had given him. Part of him couldn't believe he was here, even after the eight hours he'd spent in the car on his way down the east coast. 

Her neighborhood wasn't at all what he'd expected, staid colonial-style houses lining the streets, interspersed with well-manicured rows of townhouses. By the time he pulled into her driveway, he was reconsidering his estimation of how well her games must have sold. Living in a neighborhood like this in the suburbs of D.C. had to be quite an expense.

He pulled into her driveway and got out, the humid air rushing around him as he pulled his messenger bag from the back seat. Throwing the strap over his head, he felt a little like he was carrying it as a shield. It was a little intimidating, looking up at the facade before him, and he made a game of estimating how many times the postage stamp-sized thing he called his apartment would fit inside her townhouse. 

With one last deep breath, he walked toward her door, taking in the precise layout of the flowers in the beds that lined her walk. Nearest the street, they were red, transitioning to orange, then yellow, moving through the colors of the rainbow in order until the final grouping of purple flowers near her front door. He understood the significance immediately, thinking about _Spectrum_ , her third title, and how she'd woven those same colors into the core mechanics of the game. He twisted behind himself to ring the doorbell, then turned back, wondering if her garden had inspired the game.

"Hello, Fitz," he heard, after the door opened behind him, but he was still lost in thought, staring at her front yard. "Have you forgotten something?"

"How did you find green flowers?" he asked, and though he knew it was a strange way it was for them to begin, he found himself unable to stop. "I didn't know there _were_ green flowers."

She froze in the doorway, back-lit by the open windows, and stared at him for a moment before she began to laugh. "It wasn't as difficult as you might think. Those are green hellebore, and you should take care to stay away from them. They're terribly poisonous."

"I'll try to remember," he said, and walked past her when she motioned for him to come in.

If he'd felt a bit like a pauper in his used car, comfortably-worn cardigan and jeans as he'd pulled into her driveway, it was nothing compared to his reaction after she'd invited him in. The living room they stepped into looked like something out of a magazine, furniture artfully arranged, and no clutter anywhere. It was so different from his own apartment that part of him wanted to dismiss it as too fussy or boring, but everywhere he looked, she'd added some offbeat, personal touch. 

One wall featured a cluster of framed, black and white prints that were presented as fine art, but were shots of Simmons and some other people making silly faces at the camera. On another table she had a tasteful glass lamp, but when he looked more closely, it was filled with pieces from various board games in different shades of red. It was elegant and surprising, impressive without being overbearing, and he smiled to himself a little when he realized that the thing it most reminded him of was his first impression of Simmons, herself.

She continued to give him a brief tour of the ground floor, showing him the kitchen and saying something about helping himself to anything he wanted whenever he was hungry, but he couldn't do much more than nod and smile politely as he took in their surroundings. 

"We'll be on the second floor," she said, gesturing to the staircase. "I have a workroom there, if you'll follow me." She began telling him she hadn't been sure she'd be happy with a townhouse layout before she'd bought it, and he realized how hard she was working to fill the silence. As much as he wasn't sure what to say or where they could possibly start, he could see she was having just as much trouble as he was.

"Third floor's my bedroom. There's..." she stopped, glancing around and wringing her hands a little, "...well, there's no reason for us to trudge up even more steps just to see that. This is where we'll be working," she said, flipping a switch by the open archway and illuminating the room. Fitz's mouth fell open as he took it all in.

In the center of the room was the sort of dream gaming table he'd seen at conventions, designed with drawers and removable sections and ringed with matching chairs. Bookshelves lined the walls, custom-built, by the looks of them, to take full advantage of the space. They were interrupted only by a narrow desk, four whiteboards, and a window that was covered by a long, white shade. 

Every inch of the shelves were filled, each item fitted in as efficiently as possible. He stepped forward and started with the long line of game boxes, running his fingers over the titles as he took in her system. She'd filtered them into categories, the sections carefully labeled. _Simulation_ , _Race_ , _Casual_ , _Strategy_ , and a few others.

"You've got _Monkeys_ filed under 'Race'," he observed. "Surprised I'm not relegated to 'Casual'."

"At its heart, it's a race," she pointed out. "And 'Casual' isn't an indictment. Some of the most enjoyable games I've ever played are—"

"I'm sorry, Simmons. I don't mind at all. You can file my games wherever you like, and I enjoy a good casual game as well."

"Of course, yes," she said, stepping back a little and letting him continue his exploration.

The games gave way to books halfway across the wall, also categorized and alphabetized. While there were treatises on game design and general game theory, she also kept history and science textbooks, a handful of sci-fi and classic fiction novels, and an entire shelf of identical, white binders.

"The rest of my books are on the third floor." She had a worried look in her eyes that told him she couldn't couldn't resist filling the void left by his near silence. He wished he could think of something brilliant to say, something to impress her enough to reassure her that working with him wouldn't be weeks of awkwardness at best, or perhaps the biggest mistake of her career at worst. "I'm not sure what your entertainment options are at the hotel, but if you need any books or DVDs while you're here, just let me know."

"Thanks, Simmons," he said, forcing himself to say _something_ , and even that tiny concession seemed to put her more at ease. "This is amazing," he continued, crossing the room to get a closer look at an army of plastic organizers, each housing dozens of drawers. Again, she'd labeled and sorted everything, and the gaming geek in him was dumbstruck at the variety of tools she'd collected. There were counters, chips, pawns, plastic card stands, tiny cubes, letter and number tiles, rows of blank cards, cubes, dice in every variation he'd ever heard of, and so many other things he had to stop looking before they lost the entire day to his curiosity.

"Did you bring anything you'd like to set up? I've cleaned off the desk for you and I'm happy to work from the table, if you'd like, or the reverse, if that would make you more comfortable."

He pulled out a chair and sat down, taking the thin package Coulson had sent him out of his messenger bag and he dropped it on the table.

"I'm stuck, Simmons," he said, deciding there was no point in trying to hide it from her. The vague, almost non-existent design specs from QRG had stumped him, no matter how he'd tried to approach it. He'd intended to present some sort of proposal to Simmons upon his arrival in an effort to show her he could be a decent partner. Instead, he had nothing to offer, and could only hope she'd have some kind of suggestion they could use as a jumping-off point.

After a moment's hesitation, she slid into the chair next to him, picking up the folder and thumbing through it, her mouth set slightly off-center as she thought.

"Let's look at what we've been given," she said, flipping through pages until she found the bulleted list at the end of the packet. "The game should accommodate anywhere from two to six players," she read. "They'd like it to be easy to pick up, but moderately difficult against skilled opponents. It should be competitive, featuring no elements of trading, cooperation, or deal-making. Rather than suggesting travel, the players should instead feel trapped...claustrophobic. There should be some sort of resource gathering mechanic to generate in-game currency, used to purchase items that help the player work towards a win. For now, the win condition should be accumulating a target number of points, though the portfolio we've been given suggests the points will be translated into something specific to the theme of the game after they've cleared us to receive the information."

"Yes. We've been given nothing," Fitz said, but he goggled at Simmons when she spoke at the same time, overlapping him.

"So, quite a lot then," Simmons said, cocking her head to the side and looking back down after she realized they'd contradicted each other, as though she was checking their materials to make sure she'd read them correctly.

"All right, I'm exaggerating," he said, though he didn't think he was off by much. "Have you ever designed with details as ambiguous as these before?"

She frowned, then got up from the table and crouched in front of one of the bookshelves, pulling out a few binders. "I've rarely had more than this to go on. My game engines usually receive their final theming after the system has been created and tested."

"You're joking." He got up, scanning her game shelves to find one of her titles, and found them all neatly in place in the 'Strategy' section. "I assumed, when I was coming up your walk, that your garden gave you the idea for _Spectrum_."

She shook her head. "It's the other way 'round, I'm afraid. I used the bonus I received for _Spectrum's_ second printing to landscape the front yard. That particular flow of colors seemed to be a nice homage." She put down the binders in front of him, and then sat next to him, leaning forward as she opened the first one. "How do you usually begin?"

"Well, let's see. I got my idea for _Space Monkey Rescue_ after a day wandering at the zoo. _Gadgetbots_ came to me after I fell asleep at my workbench one night and I guess something about the electronic components stuck into my face gave me a strange dream. They've all been like that."

"It all makes perfect sense, then," she said, her voice a little dreamy as she looked over her shoulder at her wall of games. "Interesting." She turned back to the table, tearing several of her binders open and flipping through the plastic-covered pages, marking one passage with her elbow as she struggled to find something in the next.

He stared at her, his frustration at having to show up here empty-handed getting the better of him, and a stream of annoyance escaped him before he could think better of it. "Interesting how you'll have to ride in on your white horse and save the day, as I've done nothing but shrug my shoulders?"

She froze, looking at him with wide, shocked eyes. He could see her processing what he'd said, and how little sense his reaction made to her. She was horrified, in fact, and he wondered how long it would be before she was on the phone to Coulson, promising him anything if he'd only let them out of their contracts.

Her head tilted up and she looked at the ceiling, then she began to speak, as though she was reciting a poem she'd had to memorize for school. " _Fluidia_ is a commendable effort. While the underlying system is elegant, offering players multiple paths to victory and ample opportunity to scheme against one another, each playthrough we've observed with the game has been dry, even lackluster. It's a shame such a well-tuned game is cursed with such cardboard cutout theming, inspiring little repeat interest to anyone but the hardcore strategy gaming enthusiast."

"Simmons...what is—"

"That's my first negative review," she said, folding her hands in her lap and looking down at them.

"You memorized it?"

"Not by choice," she admitted. "Couldn't stop reading it. After a few repetitions, the words simply lodged themselves in my memory."

"Someone who wrote such a stuffy-sounding review wouldn't know fun if it whacked them in the face," he said, taking a chance that the humor might soften her mood. He held his breath until she smiled a little, though the worried expression soon chased it away again.

"I don't excel at theming, Fitz. It's a recurring commonality in my reviews, but it's one of the many areas where your work is strong. Extraordinarily so."

"Even if that's true—"

"I don't believe it's a debatable point," she said, and then began to tear through the binders in front of her again. "I think I know how we should begin."

She seemed to be waiting for some response from him, but he didn't want to stop her while she was still picking up momentum. He nodded vigorously, and that seemed to be enough to buoy her forward. 

"We'll create a skeleton game system. Take a few pieces and see if we can blend them together. Doesn't matter if we keep anything from where we start, it's just a catalyst. If something isn't working, or we think of something better, we'll start removing things, slotting new ones in. Once we begin to build a structure, I'm banking on your creativity coming forward, sparking this thing to life. We can work with temporary theming, anything that fits the parameters they've given us."

"What? I just start filling in the blanks?"

"Stories are usually archetypal. Hero's journey. Rags to riches. Boy meets girl," she suggested, her voice catching a little on the last one, and she cleared her throat before she continued. "This is how your mind works. You'll see a story, and it will inform the design. I can't do it, Fitz. I need you for that."

She opened the rings on the binder in front of her, pulling out a few pages covered in diagrams and charts. He read through them, realizing it was a statistical analysis of a currency-generation system. She'd created an asymmetrical distribution of numbers, then charted probabilities of income accumulation among players at different points over the course of the game.

"Simmons," he breathed, wondering how many hours... _days_ of work he was holding in his hands. "This is incredible."

"I've had this model around for a long time, but I could never find a place to use it. It scales too rapidly for the other games I've designed. This game is supposed to have a shorter play time, so it seems like my chance to put it to good use."

He was still staring at the papers, flipping back and forth until he understood the system completely.

"Fitz...if you don't think...if you'd like to start somewhere else, that's certainly something we should discuss. I don't want to—"

"You have multiple binders, all full of work like this?" he asked, whirling around to look at the shelf she'd taken them from, where there were still at least a dozen more she hadn't pulled.

"Some people knit," she said, shrugging at him. "This is what I do with my spare time." She flipped through the pages, sliding it over so he could look at it as well. "It's my own system, I'm afraid. If you use more standard design practices, it'll seem rather alien to you. I think of these as modules, pieces of a core game engine. Everything's color coded and labeled. Economic models, negotiation tools, movement algorithms. If any of them were influenced by what I've seen in other games, it's noted at the bottom of the first page. Anything I've already used has a flag on the top right corner, coded to which game it was integrated into."

Fitz looked away, drumming his fingers on the tabletop while he considered what she'd just shown him. There were years of her work here, painstaking analysis with an attention to detail that he wouldn't have thought possible if the evidence wasn't sitting right in front of him.

"You should have these locked away in a safe, Simmons. This is your _life's work_ , and you've dragged it out and handed it over to a competitor." He pushed one of the binders on the table closer to her for emphasis. "You shouldn't show these to me!"

"How can we be partners if I'm hiding things from you? This is going to be the best game we can make, and if we have to go through every word on each one of these pages until we find the right combination of elements, we're going to do it. I trust you, Fitz." She looked so earnest until that moment, when her expression suddenly lightened and she smiled as they locked eyes. There was something about the set of her mouth and the tilt of her head that made his mind go blank for a moment. "Perhaps I shouldn't, but I do," she teased.

They settled in to work, each of them pulling out a few of her pre-designed modules, while Fitz also grabbed some blank paper and started to flesh out a few new ideas. He struggled to hide his amusement when he jumped up to draw a flowchart on one of her whiteboards, only to have her start to protest because he hadn't used the one labeled 'Storyboarding'. She cut herself off mid-sentence, then offered to make them both some tea.

"Can't watch me usurp your system, can you?" he asked, not turning around, but desperate to catch her before she disappeared down the stairs.

"They're just whiteboards, Fitz," she said, but he could hear the tension in her voice.

"Would you like me to transfer what I'm doing to the correct one?"

"No, absolutely not," she said, and he could hear how hard she was working to stave off her impulse to beg him to do just that. "There's no reason you can't stay just where you are. Now, do you take any cream or sugar?"

"Two sugars, thanks," he said, letting himself steal a look at her over his shoulder. He waited until she was nearly out of sight, then shouted after her. "I'll have it moved before you get back. It's no trouble, and I'd rather have it where we can both see it easily."

"Oh," she said, sounding surprised. "If you'd rather. Doesn't matter." He heard her soft footsteps as she continued downward, followed by her voice again, almost inaudible at this distance. "Fitz? Thank you."

He chuckled to himself as he began to transfer his work, noting how he changed several parts as he got the chance to review it. The temporary theming he was putting together to help himself envision the game system would be even better, and only because of an otherwise meaningless action he'd taken to accommodate Simmons and her attachment to strict organization. It was strange, how well they worked together, even when the outcome seemed accidental.

He turned to look at her area of the table and its four neat, symmetrical piles labeled with color-coded post-it notes. Leaning forward to make sure she wasn't on her way back yet, he stole over to them. She'd sorted the ideas they'd both found intriguing into categories. Passing over the others for now, he began to page through the pile on the far right, which she'd labeled "unsuitable".

Third from the top, he found a combat system they'd both liked, and as he ran his fingers over the specs, he remembered the excitement in her voice as they'd discussed the possibility of including it.

"I hesitate to call them combat systems, really," she'd said. "They're useful for any sort of competitive interaction between players if you have to quantify winning and losing, or allow a qualitative judgment of their relative performances."

He couldn't get over how much he was enjoying their collaboration already. He'd met more game designers than he could count, but he'd always found them deadly boring. If they weren't prone to pontificating for hours about their own work, they were spouting nonsense he couldn't relate to, or engaging in a desperate attempt to promote their latest Kickstarter project. He didn't think he'd ever enjoyed his time with someone more than the exchanges he and Simmons had that morning, even—perhaps especially—in the moments they'd disagreed.

Thinking it over again, he took the combat system out of her 'no' pile and laid it down, then pulled everything out of the pile she'd made on the far left, which he assumed were the ideas she thought they should try first. Putting them all next to each other, he could see why she'd nixed the combat module. They both loved her economics module, though he'd already thought of ways to tweak it he hadn't run by her yet. The combat system and the economic system...they just weren't compatible. Making them work together would force the players to track several streams of resources concurrently, which would increase the overall difficulty level of the game.

He bit his lip, wondering if they should put all of these aside for Simmons to use on her next challenge-heavy strategy game. The idea of putting them together was intriguing, prompting him to tack both systems up on one of the unused whiteboards with some magnets and begin a diagram, visualizing ways to have the two systems flow into each other.

"I've given you the commemorative mug from my first Gencon, Fitz, and I'll have you know it's my favorite...cup..." came her voice from behind him, and they both froze in place. Fitz turned slowly, having heard the dismay in her tone as she'd taken in the state of the room she'd left, minutes ago, in perfect order.

If he'd thought she might have an anxiety attack at the sight of him using the wrong whiteboard earlier, she was headed for nothing short of complete loss of consciousness now. Her meticulous, precise piles were askew, if not outright missing, and Fitz had scrawled notes on all four of the boards, even obscuring some of the flowchart he'd just moved.

He capped the two markers he had open, tossing them onto the tray, and he put his hands out in front of him, palms down, in the universal gesture for "please wait, give me a chance to explain."

"All right, Simmons, let's set the tea down first before you kill me. I don't want you to burn yourself."

"There's..." she began, blinking as her eyes darted around the room, then she took a deep breath, shutting her eyes, and composed herself. "There are cup holders built into the side of the table. Could you pull one out please?" she said, and he was oddly proud of her for being able to choke the words out when he could see how unsettled she was at the evidence of his reckless abandon.

"Yeah, 'course," he said, launching himself across the room to feel around the edge of the table until he found the indentation, then slid out the tray until it clicked into place. "That's rather handy. I always thought these tables were a bit overkill, but now I see one actually in action—"

"Fitz," she pleaded, putting the mugs down, one by one. "What is..." she said, pointing a shaky finger at the whiteboards. "How..." she began again, turning to her ruined piles. "Why?" she asked, settling on a place to start.

"You killed the combat system, the one we both raved about. We even acted out a sample turn with miniatures."

She shook her head. "It won't work. We also loved the economy module, and..."

"Yeah, I know," he said, cutting her off, but she didn't seem to mind. "I'm trying to find a way for them to work together." He grabbed her hand, pulling her with him over to the whiteboards, only distantly registering the gasp that escaped her. "I feel like there's a way to do it, but I can't find it."

"They're too complex," she said, but she stepped closer to the whiteboard, using her fingers to trace the lines of the diagram. "The two systems work independently and they each need their own currency to fuel them. It could be done, but we'd miss the mark with this target audience."

"I know. I've looked at it different ways, but there's no way to pull elements out without wrecking them."

"Maybe we shouldn't pull anything out," she said, picking up a marker. There was a bit of space on the last whiteboard, and she began to draw there, interlocking his visual representations of each system together around a central core. Lines became arrows, showing a free flow around each part of the system, and he saw what she was doing as she began to add labels to each piece.

"You want to put them both together. They have the same economy."

"Not two fuels. One overreaching economy ruling both systems. The players have to balance their ability to generate income against what they spend in the combat system, which, in turn, can also generate more income if they perform well," she said, and he could see how excited she was by how quickly she was writing, her even printing turning into a barely-legible scrawl.

"Each one feeds the other, but they'll have to maintain a balance. Simple to understand—"

"But potentially, more difficult to master," she finished.

"Novice players will have no trouble getting the hang of it—"

"And experienced players will have ample room to challenge each other," she said, her smile wide as she stood back and surveyed what they'd done. "We'll have to begin testing it, of course. I could call Daisy," she offered. "She's written AI simulations for me before when I need to go through permutations at a rapid pace."

"I'm not against bringing Daisy in, but I can do that," he told her, going back to his messenger bag and slipping his laptop out of it. At her surprised look, he raised his eyebrows at her and decided to tease her a little. "Oh, I see. I'm the intuitive one who never tests anything, is that it?"

"I didn't say that," she protested. "My understanding is that programming this sort of model is a specialized skill. I wouldn't have expected anyone who isn't a full time coder to have that ability." He could see her out of the corner of his eye, watching him as he opened his laptop and turned it on, her hands wringing together. "Fitz, you don't think I'm dismissive of your skills, or the way you work, do you? Because I'm—"

"No, I don't," he said, concentrating on the screen instead of her, or he'd never be able to explain himself without it all coming out wrong. "Look, I showed up here empty-handed, and you offered up...what? A mountain of ideas it must have taken you years to develop? I suppose I'm trying to find a way to contribute."

"That isn't true at all," she said, turning around to look at the diagram she'd drawn. "I would never have tried this without you leading us there. I'd _scrapped_ half of this."

He opened his generic prototyping program, his fingers moving quickly as he selected blocks of code and moved or deleted them as necessary. Variables got changed and sections were tweaked until he needed the data Simmons had on the pages he'd put up on the whiteboards.

He looked up, finding her sitting in a chair pulled over to the wall, bent over a notebook and scribbling madly. She looked up occasionally, sometimes standing to pull data off the boards or the module specifications, but never for more than a moment before she was back to writing.

Then she huffed in frustration, and he wondered if she'd reached a block of some kind. He was about to get up to see if he could help, but before he could, she pulled an elastic tie off her wrist and used it to pull her hair back. As much as he admired her dedication to practicality, he also wished he found the exposed curve of her neck less distracting. 

Focusing back on the screen in front of him, he berated himself. Simmons was his partner, he was sitting in a room that was literally full of her brilliance, and all his traitorous brain could focus on was how painfully attractive she was. Not just her physical features—not even primarily her physical features—but between that and her obvious genius, it was harder than it should be for him to concentrate.

"Fitz?" she asked, twisting around in the chair, and he looked up again, trying to make it seem as though he hadn't just been staring at her. "I know it's unlikely you've come to a good stopping place already, but it's past two o'clock and we haven't broken for lunch yet."

He looked at his watch, amazed his stomach could have held out for this long. "Now that you mention it, I'm starved."

"I've stocked all sorts of things downstairs, but I think I'd quite like to get out for a bit. We've made progress, but some distance from it might help us get a fresh perspective."

"Yeah," he agreed, tapping one final comment into the code to help him pick up where he was leaving off. "Did you have anything in mind?"

"Well..." she began, looking down as though she was a little embarrassed about what she was about to say. "There's this classic American diner not too far from here. Greasy and unhealthy, with portions far larger than any reasonable person would ever require. I wouldn't normally suggest something like that..." She trailed off, looking helplessly at him to finish her thought.

"But it sounds good, doesn't it?" he said, standing up and pushing his chair in.

"I think today is the sort of day where I can let the rules go out the window," she said, her back to him as she arranged her notes on the table before they left.

"I'm appalled, Simmons. I thought you'd run a proper, organized project. I'm not sure I can work in these conditions, where anything goes."

"Oh, Fitz," she groaned, rolling her eyes at him, and he turned toward the stairs before she could see how wide his smile was.


	4. Chapter 4

_Six weeks later_

Jemma sighed as she stretched her arms upward, groaning as her back made unnatural noises. The pages were coming out of her printer far too slowly, so she crossed the room to get the paper cutter to begin trimming them down as they emerged. Giving herself a task seemed like the only way to keep herself focused, as they'd been working long hours for days on end and she was starting to feel burnt out.

"Simmons, I'll get those," Fitz called, standing up from where he and Daisy were huddled around his laptop. "We're testing the dynamic game board because of me, I may as well do the work putting the testing tools together."

"No, it's fine," Jemma told him, motioning for him to sit back down. "You and Daisy are making marvelous progress on those new simulations. You should stay precisely where you are."

"If this dynamic whatever thingy idea works out," Daisy began, "and you do end up including embedded tech in a block of the game board, the two of you will be stuck with me."

"It's still just an idea," Fitz said, his voice even, though his excitement for the prospect was clearly hovering just under the surface. 

Jemma wished she knew if it was the gadget, or collaborating with Daisy, that he found inspiring. Daisy and Fitz's interactions seemed easy and natural, their conversations devoid of the sometimes louder-than-strictly-necessary disputes that marked Jemma's own experience of working with him. 

"It'll remain 'just an idea' until I can finish the app to simulate its function in the game, which I could start on if you and Jemma could settle on what you need to see out of these test scenarios." Daisy bumped shoulders with him and he rubbed his upper arm, pretending to be terribly wounded.

"I'll have you know I'm more than capable of building the prototype and doing the coding for it. I could get started on it if you'd bring your own laptop, rather than stealing mine." Fitz pretended to pull the laptop away from her, laughing a little.

"Yours is nicer," Daisy said, sliding it back. "If you started programming now, I'd still be finished before you were done wireframing yours, even if I had to blast through all these tests you need first. You do know a piece of paper on your wall doesn't make you a coder, especially when that isn't even the kind of engineering you studied." Twisting in her chair, Daisy raised her voice and called out to Jemma. "Hey, did you know about Fitz's fancy-pants credentials? Because sometimes it seems like the two of you have been trapped in this room together for a month and you haven't found out the most basic—"

Jemma sighed, cutting Daisy off mid-sentence. "I know Fitz is a lecturer at Tufts in their school of engineering. I assumed that required an advanced degree."

"But I bet Fitz doesn't know about—" Daisy began, but she stopped of her own accord this time, as soon as she saw Jemma's alarmed expression.

"I don't think there's anything relevant to our project there," Jemma said, trying to ignore the look of open curiosity on Fitz's face. More than almost anything else, she didn't want the conversation to turn to her life before she began freelance game design, certainly not when she was already tired and feeling out of sorts. 

"We're sending the last two sets of data in a bar chart and line graph to the printer right now," Fitz said, giving Jemma a look she couldn't decipher as he abruptly changed the subject. "Take a look at them, Simmons. I think they indicate we can start prototyping a full version of the game for physical testing."

"Excellent." Jemma smiled back at him, but it faltered when he looked quickly away.

"Glad you got over your foolish pride, Fitz? That you let me do the coding for these?" Daisy teased him. When she followed that by running her hand over Fitz's back, Jemma turned around to hide her conflicted reaction to Fitz and Daisy's easy camaraderie, knowing there was little she could do to keep it from showing on her face.

While Jemma and Fitz had much more in common than she'd ever thought they would, they often disagreed, pushing each other to prove their points before any concessions were given. Their moments of rivalry didn't seem to mar the friendship they'd begun to build, but when she saw him with Daisy, she realized how much more effortless their friendship was. He simply seemed more comfortable with Daisy, easily chatting about the apps Daisy was working on or the data modeling they were doing to prepare the game engine for its first round of testing.

She turned back, watching them together, and something Fitz said made Daisy laugh. As Daisy leaned on the table, helpless with giggles, Jemma could tell by the mixture of confusion and surprise on Fitz's face that he hadn't been intentionally funny. He chuckled along after a moment, and though he still looked uncertain, it was clear that even their moments of being out of sync were amiable. Contrasted with the raised voices when she and Fitz hadn't been able to agree on a method to introduce equipment upgrades into the game yesterday, she couldn't blame Fitz for enjoying Daisy's company more than her own.

"Have they come through yet, the charts?" Fitz asked, pushing his chair back and walking toward her. She felt silly when she whirled around again, bracing herself on the printer as she pulled the sheets out of the tray, her fingers grasping too hard as she shuffled through them. 

"They're here. I'm sorry, I haven't looked at them yet. I was woolgathering, I'm afraid."

"I've been meaning to discuss your suboptimal work ethic with you, Simmons," Fitz said, and Jemma heard Daisy laugh again. 

"Yes, our Jemma is quite the slacker, isn't she?" Daisy added, between giggles.

She felt terrible allowing their ease with each other to upset her, so she made an effort to cover it before she turned around. "You've caught me. I've decided to ride on both of your coattails," she joked, plastering a smile on her face.

"Ah, that must be why nearly every system in the game is an almost untouched version of one of your modules," Fitz said, reaching around to hold the other side of the paper Jemma was pretending to study.

She yanked the paper away before she could stop herself, needing to retreat from him a little. His propensity to invade her personal space was a overwhelming in the face of his obvious interest in Daisy. Fitz seemed oddly hurt by her withdrawal, a reaction she found she didn't want to examine too closely, so she scrambled for something to say that would put them back on task.

"You keep saying things like that, as though the revisions you've made haven't been numerous and important. The storyboarding you've done has inspired many edits for the better. No one could call these 'my modules' any longer."

"Yeah, Fitz is pretty awesome, isn't he, Jemma?" Daisy asked, and Jemma had to pull the chart very close to her face to hide her own reaction to the blush that came over Fitz's cheeks as Daisy complimented him.

"He has his moments," Jemma choked out, risking a glance at him over the paper and finding herself disappointed when he didn't look back.

"I have some news for both of you awesome people," Daisy said, getting up to join them, putting one hand on each of their shoulders. "It's getting dark outside. This game of yours has eaten yet another day of our lives."

Fitz pulled his phone out of his pocket, his eyes widening when he saw the time. "It feels like we just broke for lunch ten minutes ago. Can it really be this late?"

Jemma looked between her two friends. Daisy had been fighting to break away from an awful relationship when she and Jemma met, gradually leaving behind the guarded and jaded woman she'd been months ago and blossoming into a funny, generous soul who was the best friend Jemma had ever known. If Daisy and Fitz were developing an interest in each other, Jemma knew she should swallow down her own feelings and encourage it.

"Daisy, if you need to get home, perhaps Fitz wouldn't mind dropping you there on his way back to the hotel. I know it's only a mile and you've said you feel comfortable walking after dark, but I'm sure it would be no trouble, would it, Fitz?" Jemma willed away a flood of disappointment for herself as she suggested it, careful to keep her expression impassive.

Fitz paused, looking between Daisy and Jemma, seemingly unable to answer. "I...of course it's no troub—" 

"I think..." Daisy began, drawing out the silence with a grin, "...we should _both_ get into Fitz's little car, and he should drive us around the corner from my apartment." Daisy raised her eyebrow, staring at Jemma until the meaning of her words sank in. "You know, the place you let me drag you to sometimes, with the alcohol and the fun?"

"Oh, no. I don't think so. It's been a long day, Daisy. I'm sure Fitz would like to get back to the hotel and relax," Jemma said, understanding exactly what Daisy was suggesting.

"Come on, we need to unwind. Okay, not that your game geek, digithead design fest isn't a laugh riot, but you know what I mean. A couple of drinks. Maybe some pool. Jemma...you know it's what we need. Fitz, help me out here."

"The two of you should go," Jemma said, before she could change her mind. "I don't think I'd be good company. I'm preoccupied with the details we need to solidify."

Fitz stared at Jemma, his expression deadly serious for a moment, until he nodded a little, catching Daisy's eyes before he spoke again. "I'll go if Simmons will. It's all three of us, or nothing."

"Jemma, please, _please_ ," Daisy begged. "It's been forever. We haven't been out for weeks. I need a drink and some time meditating on the ugly crap they put up on the walls in that dive."

Looking between the two of them and having a terrible feeling she'd regret this, Jemma sighed heavily and nodded, then almost fell over as Daisy tackled her in a hug.

* * *

The music inside the bar was loud and Jemma felt overwhelmed from the moment they opened the door. She winced, still trying to adjust to the noise when Daisy grabbed both of their hands and dragged them to a table near the back, where she tossed her bag down and motioned for them to sit.

"Hold the table for us. First round is on me," Daisy said, leaning close to them and raising her voice to be heard over the cacophony. Jemma nodded, and Daisy was gone before any of them could say anything else.

"We didn't even tell her what we wanted to drink," Fitz said, half-yelling to be heard over the music.

"Doesn't matter, she'd bring back whatever she chose for us instead even if we had," Jemma explained. "That's Daisy. She has this knack for picking something I'd never order, but I always love it."

Fitz smiled, then looked down at his hands in front of him on the table as they nervously tangled together, his expression drifting into something more thoughtful. Jemma wondered if he would use this evening to pursue anything romantic, as it was the first time he would be with Daisy outside of the work room in Jemma's townhouse.

"She's getting over a dreadful breakup," Jemma said, leaning over the table a little so he would be able to hear her.

"Daisy? That's awful." Fitz glanced over to the bar, watching Daisy talk to the bartender as he made their drinks. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"She's very important to me, Fitz. She's seen me through more than a few rough patches and she's a wonderful friend. You're a lovely person as well, but I feel as though I wouldn't be doing my job as Daisy's friend if I didn't let you know how fragile she is after...what happened." She locked eyes with Fitz, who seemed to be more puzzled than anything else. "The next person she dates needs to be patient...give her plenty of space to make sure she's ready to start something new."

"So...do you think she's interested in the bartender?" Fitz asked, turning in his chair and giving Jemma a view of his profile as he narrowed his eyes at the man behind the bar. "It sounds like you're really worried about her. Are you saying we should we keep an eye on her?"

"No," she said, cocking her head at Fitz as she wondered if he was covering his intentions, pretending not to understand what she meant. "Well, yes. I am concerned about her, but not about the bartender."

"I'd take another look if I were you," Fitz said, pointing to the bar. "I'm not the best person to ask about things like this, but she's flirting with the bartender. And...yeah," he continued, his hand gestures getting more complex as he tried to interpret what was going on, "the bartender's flirting back."

"Don't take the wrong impression from that. Daisy's quite friendly, and she and Lincoln already know each other."

"I'm not sure what the right one would look like if this isn't it, Simmons. Do you..." he trailed off, starting to look a little worried himself. "Do you know something about that guy? You don't think Daisy's in any danger, do you?"

"No, no. Lincoln's been the bartender as long as we've been coming here, and he seems like a fine person. It's just...I don't think you should interpret this as a lack of interest in..." Jemma looked down, letting the end of her sentence die. She couldn't make herself say the rest out loud. "...anyone else," she finished instead, wishing she could disappear into the wallpaper.

The music had quieted as they were speaking, yet Fitz pulled his chair even closer, ducking his head toward her. She instinctively leaned toward him as well, feeling silly about the little shiver that passed through her when their shoulders met and he leaned on her a little.

"I think we're having two different conversations, Simmons. Who do you think is interested in Daisy?"

Jemma's breathing quickened as she tried to think of a way to answer his question without reverting to primary school behavior, passing notes in class trying to figure out who liked whom. Blinking helplessly at him, their faces only inches apart, she felt utterly unequal to the task.

"I'm a rather observant person, Fitz. I know you'd like to believe you've kept your feelings rather veiled, but it hasn't been difficult to draw this particular conclusion."

"Kept my feelings..." he repeated, confused, his eyes darting back and forth as he seemed to be searching her face for clues. "What feelings, exactly, do you think I'm trying so hard to mask?"

"Ugh, Fitz," she spat out, feeling quite annoyed now. He couldn't possibly be this thick. "Any fool with half a brain could see how you feel about her."

Fitz laughed, beginning so abruptly that Jemma leaned away from him in alarm. His apparent glee at her answer was doing nothing to quell her exasperation, so she took a deep, cleansing breath and waited icily for him to finish.

"Okay, if you got Fitz to laugh this hard, I have to know what I missed," Daisy, said, leaning over Jemma's shoulder to deposit a cocktail Jemma didn't recognize on the table in front of her. "I have to go back for the other drinks, so wait until I get back to fill me in."

"Fitz, stop," Jemma whispered, grabbing his shirt sleeve and yanking him closer as Daisy disappeared into the crowd again. "She's going to—"

"Find out my big secret?" He looked at her for a long time and she drank him in, trying to reconcile his reaction to what she'd seen over the past few days. "I'm not falling for Daisy. I think she's lovely, but you're seeing something that isn't there. I couldn't be in love with someone who fails to properly comment her code. Really, Simmons, you should see it. It's appalling."

His eyes were dancing with amusement, giving no hint of being anything other than honest. Though she'd been so certain and he could still be lying to cover for himself, it didn't seem likely.

"You don't like her because of the way she codes? That's awful, Fitz! Daisy's wonderful! Why on earth wouldn't you be half in love with her after spending this much time getting to know her? You'd be lucky to have any sort of romantic entanglement with someone like her." Jemma knew she'd ceased to make any sense, but it felt like someone else had control of her mouth and she wasn't able to stop. She reached a shaky hand forward and grabbed the drink Daisy had dropped off for her, then slammed back half of it in a single gulp.

"How long has she been going on like this?" Daisy was back, and Jemma winced when she realized she had no idea how long her friend had been there or how much she'd heard.

"Thirty seconds longer than I should have allowed her to," Fitz said, and he and Daisy shared another laugh while Simmons sat between them, feeling murderous.

Daisy nodded, clinking her glass against Jemma's where it sat on the table and collapsing into the chair beside her. "Something tells me we should stop trying to salvage this discussion. I don't know what either of us could come up with, Fitz, to follow what Jemma was serving up."

"If you'd seen yourselves..." Jemma muttered, still feeling as though the rug had been pulled out from under her. 

"I could do a lot worse than Fitz, but he's just not into me," Daisy continued, play-acting her great distress by putting the back of her hand to her forehead and shaking her head melodramatically. 

"Oh, stop," Jemma said, taking another sip from her drink, then looking at it with regret when she saw she'd downed the whole thing without noticing.

"There's a pool table opening up." Daisy pointed over Fitz's shoulder, where a couple of guys were re-racking the balls and hanging up their cue sticks. "I'm heading over there to grab it for us. Why don't the two of you get Jemma another round and meet me over there?"

Jemma flashed a look of dismay at Daisy, incredulous that Daisy would leave her alone with Fitz after she'd made such a fool of herself in front of him. She needed some sort of reset, a moment to herself before she could put the embarrassment behind her.

"I'll get it," Jemma said, standing up and taking a step back from the table. "Fitz can help you set up the game. I need to splash a little water on my face, then I'll get us each another drink and join you."

"We'll play the first game, Fitz. Jemma can play the winner," Daisy said, tugging on Fitz's hand until he grabbed his drink and got up to follow her. "Don't get too excited if you beat me. Jemma's a ringer. She's gonna wipe the floor with whichever one of us ends up going against her."

"We'll see about that," Fitz said, but he wasn't looking at Daisy. He'd found Jemma's eyes with his and he seemed to be as frozen in place as Jemma felt. "You're all right, aren't you, Simmons?"

"Y—yes," she managed, her breath hitching as she tried to answer. She shook her head a little to clear it, pulling her gaze away from Fitz's to unlock her ability for speech. "I emptied my glass rather quickly, I think. I'll be fine in a moment."

Jemma turned, heading for the restroom to pull herself together. She could still remember the icy blue of his eyes, just as they'd appeared when she'd been helpless to look away from him. She intended to shock the image out of her memory by splashing several bracing rounds of cold water in her face, but at this point, she'd stick her head under the tap if that's what it took to regain her composure.


	5. Chapter 5

Fitz pointedly avoided Daisy's attempts at leading questions as he rearranged the billiard balls in the rack, alternating solids and stripes, before sliding them to their starting point. Daisy redoubled her efforts and he sighed, turning his back and pretending to take quite a lot of interest in the pool cue selection.

"She's pretty awesome, isn't she?" Daisy said, trying again. "I mean, she obviously can't tell I'm not the one you're pining over, but other than that."

Fitz felt his shoulders drop, though he wasn't resigning himself to having this conversation quite yet. Perhaps he could wait Daisy out, spare himself the discomfort of discussing the pathetic, one-sided crush he'd developed for Simmons by refusing to answer. He closed his eyes as he ran his hand down the cue stick he'd pulled out of the wall bracket, then stalked back to the table. This was the first time he'd admitted to himself how far gone he was, and there was something about the mixture of truth and alcohol that made it that much more depressing.

"She's amazing, Daisy, but you know that," he said, deciding to try a deflection into more neutral territory. "It's clear she's twice the designer I'll ever be," he added, bending down to line the cue ball up perfectly on the dot.

"Okay, Jemma's the best game designer ever. I've said it a thousand times myself, but I don't see why you can't be the best too. Or maybe you could be the best together. Your game's going to be incredible. Make the partnership permanent," Daisy said, showing no sign of abandoning her efforts to goad Fitz into taking some sort of action, even if that action was platonic.

"We're too different," he said, trying to put an air of finality into his voice.

"You have more in common than you think," Daisy sing-songed, and he was sure she baiting him to ask what she meant. "Go ahead and break, Fitz," she added, confusing him for a moment before he realized she was talking about their game of pool.

"She's much more successful than I am," he pointed out, bending to line up the cue ball as he attempted yet again to move the discussion toward something less uncomfortable. 

"I don't think so. When she told me about the two of you getting paired up, she mentioned how similar your sales figures are. Unless your contract negotiation skills are terrible compared to hers, you're probably doing about the same." He was about to interrupt when Daisy seemed to figure something out. "Oh! Are you talking about how nice her place is? That doesn't have anything to do with her game design income."

He stood up straight to look back at Daisy, realizing he'd been assuming quite a lot about Simmons and her standard of living. "Family money?" he guessed, bending to take the shot and grimacing when he failed to sink any of the balls on his break.

"Nope." Daisy flounced past him on the way to her first shot, a manic grin on her face. She was enjoying both games she was playing with him, though the pool seemed a distant second to the more subtle sport of baiting him with information.

"Is this a contest?" The irritation coursing through him multiplied when he watched Daisy effortlessly sink her first shot. "You aren't going to tell me unless I happen to get it right on my own?"

"As fun as that would be, Fitz," Daisy said, tapping another ball into a nearby pocket, "I don't think we have time. Jemma will be back soon and you're not even close."

"All right, so—"

"You know that doctorate you have in engineering?" Daisy asked, letting the rhetorical question hang in the air while she sank two balls at the same time on her next shot. "Jemma has one...oh wait..." she said, more than a little theatrically, "...two. She has two. She's a biochemist."

"How did she end up in—"

"Game design? Kind of a longer story, and she's never told me all of it. She worked for some pharmaceutical company when she got out of school, and I guess she developed a...drug for them? Or maybe a vaccine? She was really happy at first, felt like she was helping people. They gave her a huge bonus. Like, massive. Enough to pay off the townhouse."

"What happened? Why would she leave—"

"Her miracle drug...vaccine...whatever it was...they jacked the price up on it. It made a few men who were already a gazillionaires richer, and most of the people who needed it couldn't get it."

Fitz swore under his breath. He couldn't imagine how disillusioned she must have been, allowing something like this to not only drive her to quit that job, but leave the field entirely.

Daisy's eyes darted over his shoulder. "Damn. She's at the bar and she'll be here in a minute. We have to change the subject. She'd kill me if she knew I told you this."

He gulped, looking over to see Simmons grabbing the next round of drinks. He hoped Daisy would come up with something. Talking about anything else right now just didn't seem possible.

"Jemma," Daisy called out, skipping around the pool table to drape her arm tightly around Simmons' shoulder. "We missed you."

Simmons looked a little alarmed, her back straightening as tried to keep the liquids she was carrying inside their glasses. "Watch the drinks, Daisy, or you'll be wearing them."

"I've got those," Fitz said, dropping his cue stick on the table to help.

"Didn't we miss her, Fitz?" Daisy prompted, releasing Simmons to move back to the pool table.

"Yeah," he said, relishing the pleasantly-surprised look on Jemma's face instead of feeling self-conscious about it. "We did." He waited for a long moment before he turned to pick up one of the drinks, then found himself in the middle of a coughing fit after he took his first swallow.

"We should have warned you," Daisy said, taking a miniscule drink from hers before she set it down again. "Lincoln knows I'm halfway to broke most of the time, so sometimes he makes our drinks really strong."

Simmons raised her eyebrow at Fitz over the rim of her glass, then downed it in a long, slow gulp. He recognized it as a challenge right away, having seen this expression of hers over papers and statistics and while pulling markers out of each other's hands, mid-argument. He picked his up again and drained it, never breaking eye contact.

"Fitz was one shot away from winning when you got back," Daisy announced, collapsing into a chair behind the pool table. "Just has to sink the eight ball, and I'm out."

Perhaps the alcohol was slowing his thoughts, as it took him a moment before he realized he shouldn't correct Daisy's total mischaracterization of their game. She'd been setting them up from the beginning, maneuvering them like chess pieces to get them to exactly this point. He made a mental note not to underestimate Daisy the next time they played a game against each other.

"Go ahead, Fitz. Do your worst. I know Jemma will avenge me," Daisy prodded.

Willing his suddenly shaky hand to still, he lined up the final shot. The shot was simple, an easy angle to drop the eight into the corner pocket. He called it, steadied himself against the table, pulled back the cue, and hoped for the best.

The next thing he knew, Daisy was back at the bar, flirting with Lincoln, and Simmons was re-racking the balls for their game.

* * *

Jemma saw Daisy coming toward them with another pair of drinks, grinning as she tiptoed forward. She stopped directly behind Fitz, giving Jemma a thumbs up.

"You weren't about to take that shot, were you?" Daisy asked in a comically loud voice, timed perfectly with the backstroke of Fitz's cue stick. Fitz's shoulders stiffened, stopping all movement just before the chalked tip connected with the cue ball.

"I think that's against the official rules of billiards," Fitz groused. "Intentional distraction."

Jemma giggled, her head feeling blissfully light. Daisy had been so right about them needing to get out. It had been ages since she'd had this much to drink, and though she didn't usually enjoy the out-of-control feeling that came with this state, it was exactly what she needed tonight.

"I guess you don't want this microbrew I picked out for you then?" Daisy said, holding the bottle in front of him like it was a carrot dangling from a stick.

"Didn't say that," Fitz said, snatching the beer from her and taking an experimental first sip.

"Isn't there some sort of rule about stalling? Slow play?" Jemma said, crossing her arms and tapping her toe, stopping only when Daisy held out another bottle for her to take.

"Talk about slow play...how many shots have you taken?" Daisy asked, looking at the state of the table. "Can't either of you sink anything?"

"Simmons isn't even trying to," Fitz said, frowning at Jemma as she shrugged in response. "She keeps trapping the cue ball. I haven't had a decent shot since we started." He sat his new beer on the side table with his empties, almost knocking one of them down in the process. If Jemma were able to think more clearly, she probably would have been more impressed at the pool shots he was pulling off while he was this inebriated.

"Let me get this straight," Daisy began. "The two of you have been over here for..." she said, looking down at her watch and screwing up her face as the alcohol made the math difficult, "...a half hour, and there's..." she paused again, poking her finger at the table as she counted the remaining balls, "... _one_ ball that's been sunk?"

"It's Fitz's fault," Jemma protested, swaying a little as she pointed at him. "He gave me the break. I sank the five and then didn't have a good follow-up. Any _reasonable_ player would tell you that's the time to take a safety shot, but Fitz took such unreasonable offense that he's wasted every turn since burying me as far from a makeable angle as possible."

"She's trapped me in so well every time that I've had no shots _but_ safeties!" Fitz countered, though he was laughing as he took another gulp of his beer.

"I can't believe you guys." Daisy leaned her elbow on Jemma's shoulder and both of them stumbled a bit. "Every normal person I know can pick up a couple of cues and drop a few balls, but the two of you are over here making up your own game and...ugh. Thirty minutes of backing each other into a corner."

"It isn't the same game, is it?" Fitz asked dreamily, leaning his cue stick against the table, then not even reacting when it clattered to the floor. "Completely different feel to it when you approach it with a side goal like that."

"Whoa, whoa," Daisy said, examining him more closely. "Maybe we've been drinking too much. Fitz, you look like you're about to pass out. Sit down, all right? I don't want to have to peel you off the floor."

Fitz waved her off, the gesture showing he was a little more in control of himself than it had appeared. "I'm fine. Just thinking." He whirled around, hastily grabbing the bar napkin from under an abandoned glass and sloshing some of the melted ice over the sides as he lifted it up. "I need a pen, a pencil, anything." He was frantic, patting his pockets and muttering some very creative pairings of expletives. 

"Wait. Fitz! Hold on. I have a pen in my bag," Jemma said, yanking the zipper open and tearing through the contents of her purse until she held a ballpoint out to Fitz, who snatched it out of her hands.

"Look at this," he said, grabbing Jemma's hand and dragging her over to the pool table. He laid the napkin down, shoving pool balls out of the way as he unfolded it to give himself more space for his notes. "Every turn of the game has an effect on the next player. You take actions to score points, but the more actions you take, the more _extra_ actions the other players can take that round. You have to balance your own progress against the opportunities you're going to hand over for free. Or...you can choose to make fewer moves if you want to paint your opponents into a corner."

When Fitz finished scrawling on the napkin, Jemma picked it up, willing her somewhat blurred vision to clear enough to discern what he'd written. "What keeps them from stonewalling each other the entire game?"

"Like we just did?" Fitz asked, smirking at her. "I suppose we could trust our players to have more sense than we do, but in case they don't..."

"...we'll make sure to build in a few safeguards to keep the game moving." Jemma pressed the napkin into Fitz's chest until he took it from her, willing her dozen concurrent thoughts to solidify into something they could refine together. "We have to get back. Right now. We can't wait." Her hands whirled in the space between them, as though their ideas were tangible and she was desperately trying to capture them with her grasping fingers.

He was already nodding when she finished. "It's vital we get started." He began to fumble through his pockets, turning them inside out until he held up his keys triumphantly.

"Excellent," Jemma proclaimed, losing her balance when she tried to turn around to grab her bag.

"Simmons, neither of us can drive," Fitz said, and he dropped his keys, as though his hands intended to reinforce his point. "We're both far too drunk."

"We are, aren't we?" Simmons giggled, holding on to Fitz's arm, and both of them stumbled. "Perhaps Daisy's approached the evening with more moderation."

"Nope," Daisy said. Jemma turned to look at her in dismay, noticing Daisy had perched herself on a nearby chair, leaning back on her elbows as she smirked at the two of them. "But this is pretty cool. I feel like I was there for a huge breakthrough."

"It'll do no good at all if we can't get back before it all disappears in an alcohol-fueled haze," Jemma muttered, but then snapped her fingers as she thought of something. "That car service, the one you can hire via the app..." She whirled around to look at Daisy again, hoping she had the answer. "Come on, Daisy, what are they called?"

"I know what you're on about," Fitz said, holding up his phone with a triumphant smile. "I've got that app. I'll get us a car," he said, squinting at his phone.

Jemma yelped as she was jerked to the side. She rubbed her arm where Daisy had grabbed her, wondering why she'd been pulled so far away from Fitz just when he'd solved the puzzle of getting them home safely. 

"If he can barely work his phone, how are the two of you going to design anything?" Daisy thought for a moment before she continued. "Something that makes sense to people who aren't drunk," she clarified.

"We'll sober up as we go. A little tea, bright lights. I'll get into a cold shower if the rest doesn't work."

"You and Fitz could get into a warm shower and forget the game," Daisy suggested. "You can't tell me the whole 'pool game that wasn't a pool game' wasn't some tortured-genius-foreplay thing."

Jemma looked into her bag, pretending to make sure everything was still there before they left, but she was really hiding her suddenly too-warm face from Daisy. "Fitz and I have a strictly professional relationship."

"Why don't you keep telling your purse that until you both of you believe it?" Daisy snorted at her own joke. 

"Car's on the way, we need to be outside in five minutes." Fitz turned in place, carefully tucking the napkin into his front jeans pocket, then scrambled to set the pool table to rights before they left.

"I'll get this, Fitz," Daisy said. "Get outside so you don't piss your driver off, making them wait."

"Will you be all right?" Jemma asked Daisy. "You're welcome to come. We'd drop you off first if you'd like."

"Lincoln lives in my building. If I hang out until closing, we can walk back together. We'll be fine. Go."

"If you're certain," Jemma said.

"Go! And remember what I said about the shower."

Jemma grabbed Fitz and headed for the door, ignoring his curious look and trying to distract him from what Daisy just said. In the end, all it took to change the subject was an innocent-sounding question about his ideas to keep the game moving forward. They spent the entire ride back interrupting each other, trading the pen back and forth as they squeezed notes into the corner of Fitz's napkin.


	6. Chapter 6

"Oi! Simmons, can we turn down the sun in here?" Fitz squinted and shaded his eyes with his hand as she flipped every light switch on the way through the townhouse.

"I know," she moaned, pausing for a moment to duck her head, her fingers splayed on either side of her temples. "It's quite bracing, but I'm hoping it will help to clear our heads."

"Here," he said, pressing the napkin into her hands and then pushing her away a little. "I'll get us some tea and be right up." He could see she was about to protest, so he cut her off before she could start. "Those thoughts you had in the car, just before we got here, about varying the turn order. I think you're on to something there. Go sketch something out before you forget, all right?"

She nodded, turning to climb the stairs with purpose.

He began to make the tea in the dark, but soon realized Simmons was right. The darkness was making him feel slow and drowsy, so he winced and turned on every light he could find. With the glare beating down on him from overhead, the kettle seemed to take forever to fill, and then an eternity to heat up.

When the tea was done, he started up the stairs and couldn't help smiling as Simmons came into view. She'd pulled her hair back again into a messy, off-center ponytail, but the tendrils she'd missed were an illustration of her impatience. As he looked around the room, every relevant page of their data, storyboarding, and flowcharting was spread out before her, covering the entire surface of her rather large gaming table.

"I've transferred our napkin notes to the whiteboards, Fitz, but I took a picture of the chart you had up on number three that I had to get rid of to make room. Did you still need it?"

He shook his head. "No, sorry. I should have erased it earlier. It's obsolete data now."

She pulled him over to the first whiteboard, tracing sections of it with her open palms as she explained it to him. "I think we should have some sort of totem in the game. It begins with the player who goes first, but passes _counter_ -clockwise at the end of each round. The player holding the totem when the round begins goes first. This way, the person to play last in one round will get the opportunity to begin the next round."

He opened a dry erase marker, adding a few notes at the side of the board. "That addresses our concern that the final player of each round will take the largest hit if the other players decide to stonewall. Brilliant, Simmons."

She was about to speak, turning to him while drawing breath, but her eyes fell to the floor as she took a little more time before she began. "Sorry. I'm still feeling a bit shaky from those cocktails at the bar. I...I'm not sure there's cause for praise quite yet. There are so many things we need to adjust. This is a huge addition, and we were so close to a working prototype. We'll have to re-evaluate our models after this new element is introduced."

"It is huge, isn't it?" Fitz pulled out a chair and turned it toward the whiteboards, sitting down to stare at what she'd written. "This might drive the complexity level of the game through the roof."

Simmons took a sip of tea, humming thoughtfully. "I was trying to create a pseudo-module while you were downstairs. You have such a knack for stripping the circuitous twists and turns out of these systems and streamlining them. I was hoping if I started, you'd be able to whittle it down to something that makes more sense."

"Maybe we shouldn't do it. It'd be safer to go straight into prototyping what we had earlier today."

"What? No. Fitz, this idea you had earlier is outstanding. We can integrate it. Perhaps it seems more difficult now through the haze of the alcohol—"

"I leave in three days. No choice in that. I've already extended this trip once, and I won't be able to prepare for the course I'm scheduled to teach if I don't get back soon. How much of this can we put together in three days?"

"All of it. We'll finish if we have to work around the clock." She bent down, looking into his eyes, and he was transfixed. "It will be impossible to do, however, unless you get off your bum and help me."

She straightened, grabbing his hands and pulling him with her. With the alcohol still dulling his reflexes, he stumbled a bit and she tried to catch him, her hands clamping onto his forearms. They both careened to the side, flailing to latch onto each other in an attempt to regain their balance.

As they righted themselves, he pulled her more tightly to him as she threw her arms around his neck. Breathing hard and not quite believing that they weren't in a pile on the ground, he looked down at her. It was the closest they'd ever been, their noses almost touching, the puffs of air from their exertion mixing in the millimeters that separated them.

Her eyes were wide and dark, focusing on a different part of his face each time she blinked. When they were finally drawn toward his lips, his heart begin to pound, out of control. Thinking felt like fighting through a thick fog and his mind blanked as he stared at her lips in return. For the first time since he'd met her, he forgot the many reasons he had to keep his hands off her and started to close the distance between them.

When she pushed away just as his eyes were slipping shut, he realized some part of him had been waiting for that, expecting it. He sprang back as well, his hands nervously lighting on the hem of his shirt and straightening it as he cleared his throat. He didn't look at her— _couldn't_ look at her—and he was sure she was a moment away from asking him to leave.

"I'm sorry, Fitz. I shouldn't have tugged you up like that." She turned her back to him, straightening her clothes as well and tucking her hair away from her face. "We're a touch too inebriated and uncoordinated, I expect."

"I should head back to the hotel." He was desperate to retreat from the terrible mistake he'd nearly just made. He still couldn't believe he'd considered taking advantage of her trust this way, especially after she'd shown him nothing but professionalism and a little friendship. "Our thought process is too fuzzy to make any real progress on this idea for the game—"

"We left your car in the parking lot at the bar, and you're still too drunk to drive regardless."

"I'll get myself a ride back, and tomorrow, I think we should set this idea aside and finish the prototype with the existing design. It's too risky. We can't take the chance of..." he trailed off and realized he was talking about more than the game. Working with Simmons was the most fulfilling experience he'd ever had. He needed to remember not to put that at risk whenever his feelings strayed out of the bounds of friendly professionalism. "We can't take the chance of destroying what we've built."

He pulled out his phone, about to open the app and order another car, when Simmons stopped him with her hand over the screen. 

"I don't want to abandon this new idea, Fitz. That's what I would have done before, taken the safe route. If we do that now, we'll make a lesser game because of it. I want to take a chance. I think we can do it." She grabbed his hands just as he was about to argue with her, staring at him with a deep, searching look. "I know we can do it."

"If this doesn't work, we'll have to go back to the model we had earlier today and start finalizing that, instead. That'll put us a week or more off schedule, and we'll have lost valuable testing time."

"That's why we have to make it work. Coulson was right, Fitz. I'm a better designer when I'm working with you. We're _both_ better, aren't we?" She looked at him, so hopeful, so insistent, and he couldn't imagine how he could ever face this process again on his own after this taste of working with her.

"Together, we're twice as good," he whispered. 

Simmons looked at the materials around them, her brow furrowing as she tried to come up with a plan. As much as he wanted to help her decide where they should start to solve this particular puzzle, his fatigue and the haze caused by the alcohol still in his system was making it impossible.

"We need clearer heads, Simmons. That's why I should go. We can get a fresh start in the morning." He started to bring up the app and she blocked him again, pulling on his arm until he stopped.

"We only have three days. We'll need every second to produce a prototype before you have to get back to Boston. I agree that we should try to sleep now, get as much rest as we can for the next..." she looked at her watch, "...five hours or so, and go right back to it. With only a handful of days left, we don't have time for you to go back and forth to the hotel. I have a small guest room upstairs, an extra toothbrush, and several ridiculously large promotional t-shirts in the bottom of a drawer somewhere. It should be enough to get you by until tomorrow. After that, you should probably—" she said, finally breaking off her long speech as she looked at him, her expression full of uncertainty, "—well, perhaps you should check out of the hotel and stay here until you have to go."

"I don't know," he said, wondering how he could ever survive being in such close quarters with her without saying something he couldn't take back. With time to decompress back at the hotel every night, he'd been able to keep reminding himself she was just his working partner, and a temporary one at that. "It seems like a lot of trouble to put you through...having a house guest."

"Honestly, I'd worry a lot less about finishing if I knew we could devote every waking hour to it for the next few days. It seems silly to waste time having you go to the hotel just to sleep. Unless it would be too much, if you wouldn't be comfortable in someone else's—"

"No, you're right," he said, interrupting her before she thought too much about why he was hesitant to agree. "We need as much time to work as we can get our hands on. It's no trouble to move here, as long as that's all right with you."

The next few minutes seemed surreal as he followed her up the stairs, trying not to even glance toward her bedroom as she showed him to the guest room. She was suddenly the picture of hospitality, making sure he had towels, a new toothbrush, and enough toiletries to scrape through a shower the next morning. When they were done and she disappeared into the darkness of the hallway, he shut the door behind her, collapsing onto the bed and holding his head in his hands. 

He closed his eyes and pictured the two of them in her workroom, remembering the kiss he'd nearly stolen from her, replaying it dozens of times before his exhaustion turned it into a jumble of discordant images. After his conscious mind finally let go, the regret followed him into his dreams, making him toss and turn in fitful, restless sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

Jemma yawned over the tea kettle, then self-consciously tucked an errant clump of hair behind her ear as she kept a watchful eye on the eggs she was cooking. She'd had terrible trouble sleeping the night before, despite the alcohol doing its best to pull her into unconsciousness. Though it had been her idea for Fitz to stay here, she'd found herself unable to rest as she fixated on being trapped in the townhouse with him for the next three days.

After the sun rose, she'd heard the hesitancy of his steps in the hall outside her room, followed by the subtle shudder of water rushing through the pipes as he turned the shower on. She was avoiding him until she felt more awake and ready to attack the work awaiting them, so she'd retreated downstairs to make them breakfast. Now that she was here, she felt unguarded with her unbrushed hair, in the robe she'd hastily pulled on, the belt askew and too tight around her waist. 

"Simmons?" he called down, and her eyes darted toward the doorway. She crossed her arms in front of her like a shield and hoped he'd go straight to the workroom, leaving her a little more time to pull herself together.

"I'm making tea and scrambled eggs," she called out. "Enough for both of us, but it won't be ready for a bit. I'll let you know when you should come down."

"Right," he said. Jemma held her breath and waited in the silence, hoping not to hear him on the steps. "I'll see if I can make any progress refining the new system."

"Marvellous," she said, trying not to sound as relieved as she felt. She went back to keeping an eye on the eggs, fluffing them with the spatula and allowing them to cook until the kettle began to whistle.

He'd mentioned needing a cuppa or two before he was truly awake, so she snatched the kettle off the burner to quiet it, hoping Fitz wouldn't appear downstairs after hearing the siren call of caffeine. When all remained quiet, she set up the teapot, separated the eggs onto two plates, and covered his with the lid from the frying pan to keep them warm.

Grabbing a plate and a cup of tea for herself, she slipped up the stairs, moving past the workroom as quietly as possible. Once she'd snuck past the door successfully, she called back to let Fitz know his breakfast was waiting for him downstairs. It was ridiculous to kneel on her bed and eat alone when she and Fitz could have had breakfast together and discussed the work ahead of that that day, but she hadn't considered how distracting she'd find the prospect of early morning, bleary-eyed Fitz.

Afterward, she found herself hesitating over her clothing choices, and again as she considered the contents of her makeup drawer. If she was honest, this wasn't the first time since she'd begun to work with Fitz that she'd given her outfit special consideration or lingered over the careful application of her mascara. She couldn't imagine Fitz noticed or would care even if he had, but here she was, doing it again.

When she got to the workroom, she found him beginning to piece together a new structure to each player's turn and each round of the game, visualized with index cards he'd carefully arranged on the table. He blushed and deflected her pleasantly surprised praise, making her feel quite silly for the time she'd wasted dithering over her appearance before joining him. 

They began to work, moving cards around, making notes, and having one spectacular argument that somehow ended in the two of them laughing uncontrollably. She was relieved when they seemed to fall into a groove together again, and hopeful that they'd be able to push through these last few days to generate a working prototype.

"I wouldn't have done something like this," he said, waving his hands over the index cards, "before I worked with you, do you know that? I would have been bull-headed and tried to use brute force to make it all fit. It would have taken twice as long."

"Twice?" she teased, raising her eyebrow at him.

"All right, a lot longer to get it right. Possibly never."

"Ha! I've won over another soul to the cause of immaculate organization," she said, coming up behind him and squeezing his shoulders before she could stop herself. When he stiffened under her hands, she snatched them back, balling them into fists as she froze in horrified silence. 

He must have noticed her staring at him for far too long after they'd stumbled into each other's arms the night before, the seconds ticking away as she'd silently willed him to kiss her. It was the only reasonable explanation for his obvious discomfort whenever she was within arm's length.

He cleared his throat, looking lost for a moment before he pointed to one of the cards, asking her what she thought about trying a few variations on sample turns. 

"Yes," she agreed, "I think we're ready." She turned to pull some counters and other materials out of her drawers of gaming tools, thankful he'd put them back on track.

* * *

_Two days later_

It had taken every moment they hadn't been asleep or stuffing food down their throats, but it was done. The sabotage mechanic was finally integrated into the game and enough complexity had been stripped out of the overall system to keep it simple and straightforward. The system was solid and ready to test. 

Fitz couldn't believe how much they'd accomplished, though when he had to keep stopping to rub his aching eyes as he read through the outline for the rulebook, it was a visceral reminder of the hours of unending labor that had made it possible. The near-constant fatigue was probably the only way he'd ever gotten any sleep just one room away from Simmons, and the long hours they'd spent together with almost no break had given way to a dozen different, pathetic daydreams that persistently interrupted his attention to their work.

"I think we have it," Simmons said, sounding shocked as she looked at the piles of dice, cards, and counters she'd been arranging on the table. "You've already finished both sets of board pieces, one for my testing group, and one for yours. We have the app Daisy coded to stand in for the one piece of the game board that'll be electronic, assuming Coulson approves the manufacturing cost for it. If you think the rulebook outline is workable—"

"It is," Fitz said, looking up to see she looked as surprised as he felt. "We did it. I don't know how," he added, laughing. 

"Daisy says it's because we're 'Fitzsimmons'."

"We're...what?" Fitz asked.

Simmons began to blush and she turned around, pulling velvet drawstring bags out of a low drawer. "I shouldn't have said anything. It's silly."

"Fitzsimmons?"

"She said it when I phoned her to ask for the final build of the testing app, earlier today. I told her we'd be finalizing the test model tonight and she told me she'd never doubted us, because we 'aren't even two people anymore'. We've become a two-headed amalgam she's calling 'Fitzsimmons'."

Though she seemed embarrassed to be explaining it, he couldn't help the huge grin that broke out over his face. "You're kidding."

"It's Daisy," Simmons said, waving her hands dismissively. "She has an odd sense of humor."

"I quite like it, actually," he admitted, though he felt the ridiculous smile on his face made that clear. "Unless it makes you uncomfortable."

"Well...no. Not if you don't mind. In fact, we need a joint imprint when the game is published. QRG will get top-level publisher billing, but it's likely they'll offer us a second-level credit."

"It's decided, then. We're Fitzsimmons," he said. "Let's shake on it." He held out his hand, and he didn't have to wait long for her to respond.

"This is quite different than the last time we shook hands, Fitz. I thought you'd rather die than work than me."

"If I was ever that idiotic, I'm glad not to be anymore."

Simmons looked down, and he noticed neither of them had let go. Maybe it was fatigue, or the relief at meeting their interim deadline, but he tightened his fingers around hers, hoping she wouldn't notice how affected he was at even this trivial contact. He expected Simmons to pull back, but she didn't.

"Trust you to take top billing," she whispered, and he laughed.

"Blame Daisy, I wasn't the one who came up with it." With the worry and strain lifted away from her, at least for now, Fitz was struck by how achingly beautiful Simmons was. He couldn't look away, couldn't move, and didn't want the moment to end.

"Let's play," she said. 

He blinked back at her, not understanding right away. "Our game?"

"Someone should play it first. Why not the two of us?" She tilted one eyebrow, smirking at him. "Unless you're afraid you'll lose."

"You're on."


	8. Chapter 8

_Twenty-five minutes later_

"Best two out of three?" Fitz groaned, covering his face and watching through his fingers as Simmons scored the winning point. She giggled madly, holding the cards she'd drawn for her final hand in front of her mouth. "Come on, look how close I was. I was _one point away_."

"Where's the rulebook? I can't remember what term we used for the player who was one point short at the end of the game. Wait...I've nearly got it," she said, looking upward and pretending to think. "I'm sure it starts with an 'L'."

"Are you having fun?"

"A great deal, actually." She held up the final counter she'd taken to end the game, beaming at him.

"Then let's go again," he said, starting to reset the board.

"No, Fitz. You should get to sleep," she said, checking her watch. "You have such a long drive tomorrow."

He sobered a little at the reminder that he would be leaving the next day. He'd grown so used to seeing her every morning, spending nearly every hour with her. She was probably sick to death of him, though, so he was careful not to flinch when she mentioned his trip home.

"I'll be much more alert while I'm driving if I know you gave me an opportunity to avenge my loss. One more. At least give me a chance to even things up."

She turned in her chair, looking at her shelves full of other games. "I'll tell you what, Fitz. Choose anything up there, and I'll wipe the floor with you."

He considered his choices for a moment, but when his eyes passed over a certain box, he knew which game they had to play. When he laid the _Spectrum_ box down in front of her on the table, she began to giggle again. 

"Not one of mine, Fitz. That's not fair. The sheer amount of time I've spent thinking about every strategy a player could use to win—"

"If you think your victory is a foregone conclusion, I'm not sure why you're objecting," he said, tilting his chin upward in challenge.

"Sit down," she said, pulling the top off the box. "You aren't going to know what hit you."

Fitz struggled to keep his face impassive as they began to play, the job made harder when he saw how openly Simmons was smirking at him as they took their first few turns. They collected cards, face down, in front of them, as the game progressed.

He kept a close eye on the way she checked the cards she'd won, paying special attention to the order she looked at them and the expression on her face. He had a theory she was trying to arrange them on the table to suggest a certain strategy, but it was a ruse. Her actions with the cards suggested she was pursuing a completely different win condition, the most difficult one available in the game.

If he was going to win, every move he made from that point forward had to block her from getting the cards she needed. He maneuvered the resources he had in play, acting disappointed when he was secretly delighted, using his body language to put her further off the scent of his true strategy.

He fed her a few of the cards she needed, hoping to give her a false sense of security. He had room to keep a few, and he had to hope she wouldn't find the others on her own. It was difficult to put together a combination of his own with all the irrelevant resources he was hoarding, but on the final turn, he was finally able to cobble together enough to score the points he'd need.

As the game neared its end, Fitz began to wonder if he was on the wrong track. She'd continued to play, her expression calm and unaffected. Simmons either had a remarkable poker face or he hadn't been able to block her as well as he'd hoped. He watched her carefully for clues, but it wasn't until they turned their cards over at the end of the last round that he was able to smile devilishly at her, enjoying her groan when she saw everything she'd needed to win sitting on his side of the table.

"How did you know?" she demanded.

"I assumed winning wouldn't be enough for you. No, you'd have to absolutely murder me, so you would work toward the win condition that would score the highest number of points possible. You kept suggesting a different strategy with that nonsense arrangement of your cards, but I was sure I was right."

"It isn't fair. You used my very nature against me."

"Where's your rulebook? I can't remember what you called the player who doesn't win at the end of a game of _Spectrum_...does it start with an 'L'?"

He had to duck when she sent a handful of cards at his face.

* * *

_Twenty minutes later_

Jemma had, of course, insisted on a tiebreaker after the mortifying loss she'd suffered, made worse because Fitz had _literally_ beaten her at her own game.

She could still remember the sound of his laughter when she'd gotten up without a word, pulled down her copy of _Space Monkey Rescue_ , and dropped it on the table in front of him. Now that they were nearly done with the game, he certainly wasn't laughing any longer.

"It's my turn!" she sang out, accepting the three dice from him when he laid them gently in her outstretched hand. "I like to update myself on the state of the table at the beginning of each turn. As it's your game, Fitz, perhaps you can help me summarize what's going on?"

"Ugh, Simmons. You know exactly what—"

"How silly of me." She adjusted the game pieces in front of her. "It appears I have one more monkey to rescue." She craned her neck, pretending to have trouble seeing how many he had to go. "And you have...two...no, three more."

"You can't win this turn," he pointed out. "You have too far to go. You'd have to have a weapon and an ally card combo in your hand, and even then, you'd have to roll a—"

"Nine or more, on three six-sided dice," she announced, laying down the exact card combo Fitz had just described as he groaned again. "Seventy-five percent chance, statistically speaking." She moved closer to him, holding out the dice in her cupped hands. "Could you blow on these for luck?"

He gave her a withering look, though she could see the amusement behind it. They'd trash-talked each other mercilessly throughout the game, beginning in chairs across the table from each other but moving to stand next to each other after Fitz had invoked "designer's prerogative" to add a rule that it was now legal to try to peek at each other's cards if they weren't properly hidden. She was quite sure she'd never enjoyed a game this much, and as much as she wanted to win, she also didn't want it to end.

"Roll it, Simmons. Put me out of my misery and I'll crown you Queen of All Games."

Their hips and shoulders bumped as they laughed again, jostling her enough that she nearly dropped one of the dice.

"You're trying to block me," she said, leaning toward him and squinting suspiciously. "I can't believe you'd go to such extremes to avoid my inevitable win."

"Let me have it, Simmons. I can take it." His eyes were full of challenge, but crinkled at the edges with amusement.

She blew on her own dice, pursing her lips to put a steady stream of air over them. Angling herself so he'd feel the wind on his face, she giggled as he blinked, pretending to be annoyed.

"I won't even look, Fitz. That's how certain I am. I'll let you announce my victory." 

She turned her back to the table, reaching one hand behind her to make her roll. He leaned over her, one hand on the table and the other on her hip for stability, but when she turned to him to read his expression, she found him looking back at her instead.

The dice clattered to a stop and the room was silent. She waited for him to break eye contact, but the moment never came. His head dipped toward her, the movement so slow she was sure she was imagining it.

When his lips brushed hers, they were feather-light at first, but he followed immediately with more insistence. He felt so warm under her hands as she responded to him, running her palms up his chest and opening her mouth under his as he groaned low in his throat. His hands slid from her waist to her back, fisting in the material of her shirt as he pulled her closer.

It wasn't until he pushed away from her, a look of panic in his eyes, that she remembered they weren't supposed to be doing this.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eagle-eyed readers may notice the total number of chapters has now decreased by one. The chapter I was going to post today was a) on the short side and b) ended in a cliffhanger of sorts that was too mean to impose upon anyone.
> 
> So yay! Longer chapter. However...because my lovely beta LtE and I are editing through the rest of the story (which is complete, but not tuned) as it's being posted, combining what used to be two separate chapters may delay the next post by a day or maybe two, but I'm hoping not. 
> 
> And thanks, everybody, for reading.

"Oh my god, Simmons. I'm sorry."

She watched him scrub his hands over his face, the pinprick sensation of tears threatening at the corners of her eyes as she wondered if he was instinctively trying to rid himself of any trace of her. He stumbled backward a few more steps, almost losing his balance when he collided with her bookshelves.

"I didn't mean to—I would never—" he stammered, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes as he paced in front of her. She realized she hadn't moved, her frozen posture a stark contrast to the way he'd careened away like a trapped animal fighting to free itself.

"Fitz, stop," she said, wincing at the sharpness of her tone. "It was a simple mistake. We'll forget all about it." She turned her back to him, throwing the game pieces into the box savagely, taking out her disappointment on them as she slammed them into place.

"I promise, Simmons. I didn't mean to—"

"Stop." Her voice sounded even harder, all razor-sharp edges as it bounced back to her in the quiet of the room. She couldn't listen to him list the reasons he would never have kissed her on purpose. Whatever had fueled the impulse, it didn't seem to be anything he wanted to pursue. "There's no need to have a long, tortured conversation about it. We're both exhausted, and you've been quite clear that it will never happen again. We'll accept that at face value and move on."

"Do you want me to go?" His question sliced through her, forcing a pained breath into her lungs as she absorbed the weight of how desperately he needed to get away from her. "I wouldn't blame you if you didn't want me here."

"I still trust you, Fitz. You're the one who pulled back from the kiss," she pointed out, immediately regretting it. Given his obvious regret, she shouldn't remind him how willing she'd been in his arms and how she'd melted into him, succumbing immediately as soon as she felt his lips against hers.

"If you're sure," he said, still sounding hesitant, and she knew she had to move now if she was to escape before she began to cry. 

"I'm going up now. You're free to do whatever you're comfortable with. If I don't see you in the morning, I'll assume our testing schedule will begin as we planned out earlier today."

She waited for him to acknowledge her, teeth grinding together as she fought to keep her composure. When she knew she was about to lose the battle, she retreated without his answer, climbing the stairs as her heartbeat thrummed out of control in her chest. The door to her bedroom slammed behind her and she dropped onto her bed, holding her pillow to her face to muffle her tears.

* * *

Fitz watched with horror as Jemma fled from him. He'd never felt worse in his life, practically accosting her the moment she let her guard down. His subconscious even had the foresight to back her against the table, trapping her there, before he kissed her without warning.

He didn't blame her for running. He rather felt like doing that himself, throwing his things into his suitcase and getting out so he wouldn't have to face her the next morning. In the light of day, after she'd had some time to think, he wondered if she might not feel as forgiving.

Turning around, he saw the pieces of their game prototype they'd pushed to the side, a reminder of why he was here and what they were meant to be doing. After everything they'd accomplished together and how close they'd become, disappearing seemed too easy, the coward's way out. She deserved the opportunity to properly tell him off after she'd had time to think.

He'd spent weeks fighting against the butterflies in his stomach whenever she smiled at him, or, lord help him, when they'd argued. He'd gotten through this tortured, one-sided crush by repeating over and over to himself that it would subside once he got home, after he wasn't able to see her every day. It would be more difficult to forget now that he'd felt the curve of her back under his hands and the almost unbearable sweetness of her mouth against his, but he'd have to let it all go if he wanted to salvage something of their friendship.

He moved quietly up the stairs, anxious to avoid disturbing her, but when he saw her door he felt a crazy impulse to knock. At its simplest level, he'd broken something that had become important to him and he desperately wanted to fix it, though he knew it was selfish to try so soon. 

After hesitating for a few minutes, staring at her door and wishing things were different, he slipped into the guest bedroom, careful to pull the door closed as silently as possible. He packed his bags, planning to leave as early as he could the next day. With any luck, he could be out not long after sunrise, giving him just enough time the next day to reinforce their working relationship with one last conversation about the testing schedule. He spent the last moments of the day staring at the ceiling, trying to believe his plan wasn't the coward's way out.

* * *

_The next morning_

Fitz had been gone for several hours and Jemma was still wandering aimlessly around the townhouse, ignoring her fifth text from Daisy. Jemma sent a "Worked through the night. So tired, must nap, but I'll talk to you this afternoon" text after the first from Daisy, and Daisy, being Daisy, was blowing up her phone with silly, teasing messages about being in mourning because her 'boyfriend' had left town. Jemma knew her friend thought it would be funny if she woke up to a screenful of the not-so-gentle prodding she'd been bombarding her with for weeks, but in the light of the previous night's events, it was too depressing to face.

Another text came through and Jemma looked at it, wincing when she saw the long line of kissing emoji, ending with, "Did you kiss him goodbye?"

The kiss hadn't felt like a goodbye, or at least, it hadn't felt that way to her until he broke away. It had been everything she'd wished he would do from embarrassingly early in their partnership, but just as she'd feared, it had been a mistake. She still wasn't sure what had inspired Fitz to move toward her, especially given how horrified he'd looked when he couldn't get away fast enough. Perhaps it was merely the elation of finishing their test model mixed with the shaky judgment that came with too little sleep and too much work, but he'd been clear about how much he regretted it.

She'd bumped into him early that morning by utter chance, coming out of the bathroom after her shower just as he was going in. He'd refused to meet her eyes, brushing past her with a mumbled _apology_ , of all things, as though he was sorry simply because they were co-existing in the same space.

Her phone buzzed in her hands again and she looked down, expecting to see another text from Daisy, but her breath caught in her throat when she saw it was from Fitz. With shaking hands, she tapped the screen, and her stomach felt like it was dropping out from under her when she saw what he'd sent.

_Can we talk?_

* * *

Fitz eyed his phone nervously, glancing away from the road from time to time as the minutes ticked by. He'd tried to leave things at the brief, almost formal goodbye they'd given each other before he left the townhouse behind, but every mile he traveled made him regret the perfunctory well-wishes they'd exchanged as she'd handed him his copy of their prototype.

He knew he'd initiated the kiss. He had no illusions about that, recalling how he'd felt pulled into her, their eyes locking as their laughter turned to seriousness. He hadn't resisted the temptation for long, closing the distance and brushing his lips against hers. As he'd lain awake thinking about it, though, he'd realized she hadn't pushed him away. It had given him hope that she might feel something—anything—like he did for her.

At his first fuel stop, he'd sent her a brief text asking to talk. He'd built the moment up in his mind for at least an hour, focusing so much on finding the courage to send the message that he hadn't considered how endless the wait for her response would feel. He'd made sure his hands-free system in his car was properly functioning at least a dozen times, only to discover that it appeared to be fine. She simply wasn't calling him.

When his phone finally rang, he knew he should have been using the time to consider what he planned to say, as his ability for coherent thought seemed to have left him. On the third ring, he realized how rude it would be if he allowed her to go to his voicemail after she called him at his suggestion.

Thumbing the button to answer, he cleared his throat, then croaked out an uneasy, "Hello?"

"Hello, Fitz," came her voice from the car speakers, sounding artificially sunny and bright. It was a sure sign of her unease, and oddly, he was relieved that she seemed to be nervous as well. If things weren't perfect between them, at least they could start on similar ground. "I trust your trip is going well so far?"

"Yes, thanks." He kept his answer to her polite question brief, not wanting to give himself an excuse to avoid the subject he'd meant to discuss.

"Fitz—"

"Simmons, I—"

They overlapped each other, and the puff of her frustrated breath came, crystal clear, over the line. His fingers tapped nervously on the steering wheel, but as he watched his restless hands, he began to feel annoyed with himself. He should have talked to her before he'd left instead of hoping the situation would resolve itself.

"Would you mind if I went first?" he asked, grinding his teeth together as he waited for her answer.

"No...of course not." Her uncertainty rang in his ears and he wondered what she must be thinking. He'd had no trouble reading her whenever they were working or while she was sitting across from him while they were playing a game, but now she was a mystery. 

He decided simplicity was the best plan for them. They both spent their days creating systems that encouraged subterfuge and manipulation, hiding the truth until the game was done. This was anything but a game to him, and he intended to approach this without maneuvering, without strategy.

"I kissed you."

"Yes," she confirmed, killing him a little when she stopped there.

"I know we said we didn't have to talk about it, but I think we should." There was a painful silence while he waited for her to say something. When it didn't seem that she would, he knew he had to continue, but he didn't know where to start. Should he admit how many times he'd wanted to kiss her before he'd finally given in? Should he ask her why she hadn't pulled away? 

"I...I don't think it's necessary, Fitz. We've been isolated together for weeks, under no small amount of stress. It doesn't have to mean anything, and it's very important to me that we not allow this to distract us from the game we've been hired to create."

The words died in his throat. The 'I meant it. I still do' he'd been working up to was gone. She was giving him a gift, making it clear that she hadn't wanted him to kiss her without them having to have the tortured conversation, and redirecting them back to their work.

If not for the painful wave of disappointment, fueled by the idiotic hope he'd been nursing that it had meant something that she hadn't pushed him away, he would have felt relieved. He'd get there, he knew, and he'd eventually feel grateful that she let him off the hook easily instead of allowing him to humiliate himself. That day, however, would not be today.

* * *

Jemma waited, holding her breath as silence came from his end of the call. She'd given him a reason for the kiss, an excuse, plausible deniability. They'd been locked up together for weeks and something about the lateness of the hour and the elation of accomplishing what had once felt impossible had short-circuited the two of them and thrown them into each other's arms. 

She was willing him to disagree, to argue with her as they always did at what seemed like the smallest of provocations. If he didn't, then surely the kiss had meant nothing but mistake and regret to him. 

"You're right, Simmons. I apologize, of course, for forgetting myself. We're both so..." he trailed off, the sound of the road outside his car filling her ears, "...tired and under such stress. Our partnership...your friendship....they mean a lot to me. I can guarantee nothing like this will happen again."

"We'll focus on keeping to the schedule," she forced herself to say, keeping her tone even by digging her fingernails into her palms. "Two weeks of independent testing, and then we'll have final unit and beta testing in Boston." Her heart pounded as she waited for him to respond, feeling ridiculous for hoping that he'd take it all back.

"Your plans are in place?" he asked, and she died a little at how easy it was for them to shift back into project talk.

She rattled off her itinerary, hiding behind the rote recitation of dates and hotel names and willing herself not to wish the conversation had gone differently. As horrible as it had been to hear him agree that the kiss had been an impulsive mistake with no intention or meaning behind it, at least she'd been given certainty.

* * *

Fitz let her voice flow past him and he knew he should have been braver. She'd been kind about things, but he knew she deserved to hear him promise, unambiguously, that he could put aside his feelings for her for the sake of the partnership. If there was ever an uncomfortable moment, if there was a flaw in the game they didn't find until it was too late, he'd always wonder if it happened because he'd lacked the courage to own up to the mistake he'd made. He didn't know how she could possibly trust him, or if she'd ever truly feel comfortable working with him again.

"I'll let you go then, Fitz, so you can concentrate properly on your driving," she said, her voice stiff and formal, though he heard it soften a bit at her whispered, "Do be careful, please."

As they disconnected the call, he tried to accept that their now-fragile association with each other might not survive if they looked too closely at what had been behind the kiss, and putting their friendship at risk that way was unthinkable. Resolving to use the next two weeks to restore sanity to his addled mind, Fitz drove on, ignoring how horrible it felt to be leaving her further and further behind.


	10. Chapter 10

_One week later_

She'd been putting it off, but as she read through the game reports and feedback from her playtesters, Jemma knew what she had to do. 

They'd been communicating via text when the message was brief, or email if it was more than a sentence or two. They were avoiding each other, the discomfort of their last call still hanging over them. The current problem, however, was more than they could handle via a keyboard.

Being completely honest with herself, the idea of speaking to him again was a relief, even if it wasn't for the best of reasons. During their time working together every day, she'd grown used to him, had looked forward to seeing him. This abrupt transition to almost zero contact had been difficult.

She missed him.

The call connected and there was a moment of silence before his hesitant-sounding, "Simmons?"

"Are you seeing what I'm seeing?" she asked, deciding to skip past any small talk and get straight to the issue she knew he must be worried about by now as well.

There was a deep sigh from his end, then a somewhat mirthless laugh. "Yeah," he admitted. "I know exactly what you're talking about."

"Nearly every test has yielded positive responses, good play experiences even from the people who don't win. The ratings are high, and game durations are within the targeted range," she rattled off, getting through all the positives first. "As we're going through the test scenarios, though, there's one problematic case."

"I was hoping what we were getting here was a fluke, but that was madness, of course. If I'm seeing it, you're certainly seeing it as well." His voice slipped into her ear and, even as fatigued and stressed as he sounded, hearing him again forced her eyes shut. She'd greatly underestimated how much she'd missed him, realizing as they spoke how much she'd been forcing her awareness of it from her mind. "If more than two players are focused only on the stonewall mechanic, the integrity of the game falls apart."

She sighed. It was somehow worse hearing it out loud, explained by someone other than the worried voice in her own head. "It's the only set of negative play experiences we're seeing here as well. It's clear more tuning is necessary."

"Simmons...I know the testing schedule is set, and you already have plans to be here a week from now, but—" 

"You think we need to address this now. Together," she said, having come to the same conclusion herself before she'd picked up the phone.

"I'm doing as much testing as possible, and Mack's been a rock running the beta group for me when I can't be there, but I've just started teaching my Fundamentals of Power Systems course and I don't know if..." he stopped there, as though he couldn't bring himself to suggest she make the trip a week early. 

"I've already checked with the hotel and they've got a room for me starting tomorrow. Unless you had a strong argument against it, I was planning to be in my car in the morning."

Fitz made a groaning noise she would have taken personally if it hadn't also communicated his great relief at her news. "I really didn't want to be the one to suggest it. I know you'd much rather be at home, but this really isn't the sort of thing we can fix remotely."

"I'd like to bring Daisy with me. I've spoken to Coulson about extending the travel budget if necessary, but as we can share a room and I doubt I'd use the allotted meal per diem on my own, we can probably avoid it. I know you're more than capable of writing the code to help us extend the test cases for any adjustments we make—"

"Yes," he interrupted. "Bring Daisy. She'll write the simulations faster than I can, she'll free me up to work with you. We need more warm bodies for testing, as well. That's an excellent idea."

"It's settled, then. I'll leave tomorrow. I plan on starting quite early, so the day won't be a complete loss to travel time."

"I'm...I'm looking forward to it," he stammered.

Her breath caught before she could respond, but as soon as she recovered, she choked out, "Are you?"

"Yes," he said, and though he sounded hesitant, she could hear the smile in his voice as well. "I wish it was for a better reason, but...it's been days since anyone has frowned at me for using the wrong whiteboard or putting meeples away in the pawns drawer."

"Ah," she said, before she could stop herself, and she could hear the disappointment she'd let through. "I suppose I am a bit—"

"No, wait...I didn't mean it like that. I...genuinely miss those things, Simmons. My testers are helpful, and Mack has been great while he's waiting to get started on art design, but it's not the same as working with you."

"I've...missed you as well," she chanced. "I could prepare a few complaints about your organization ahead of time if you think it would help us adjust to working together again."

"I'm sure they'll come to you naturally," he said, laughing a little, until he abruptly stopped. "Shite, Simmons. That didn't sound right. I'm not trying to say you're judgmental. The structure you've introduced to my design process is—"

"You can stop, Fitz," she said, holding the phone away from her face to giggle a little, as she was a little worried he would take offense. "I know how utterly rigid and painful I am to work with."

"Please tell me you're just teasing me now, or I'm not sure what—"

"I am, in fact, teasing you, but even if I weren't, I'd still be about to darken your doorstep." It was glorious, even in the face of a possibly game-breaking defect that needed their attention, to be able talk with him again without the awkwardness of the last few days they'd spent at her townhouse. Relief ran through her, giving her hope that they'd be able to focus on the partnership until the completion of the project.

"I can't imagine you darkening anything, Jemma." 

Her heartbeat quickened at the timbre of his voice as she realized this was the first time he'd called her anything other than 'Simmons'. She clenched her jaw, barely paying attention as they said goodbye. All it had taken was hearing his brogue curl around her first name, and she knew the week they'd spent apart hadn't done anything to clear her mind of the idiotic crush she'd developed for him.

* * *

Fitz's phone clattered to the table and he sat, immediately burying his head in his hands. He had no idea what he was saying anymore until it was too late. He knew how much he'd missed her, but he hadn't planned on admitting that to her and possibly making her uncomfortable. 

They'd have to work together for weeks, and he knew he'd be tired and over-extended between testing for their game, the office hours he needed to put in on campus, and his lecturing time. Now was not the time to let down his guard, or reveal that he'd begun thinking of her as 'Jemma' instead of the more businesslike 'Simmons', especially when those thoughts strayed out of the realm of professionalism.

A glance around his apartment gave him a sudden urge to shelve his plans to read through his students' project proposals and use the time to tidy up instead. His apartment would never be the temple to organization that her townhouse was, but that was no reason to allow her to see it in its current state of disarray.

Looking down at the mess covering his table, he thought about calling Mack to enlist his help organizing their testing area. If he could think of a way to turn the conversation toward asking for advice about Jemma, perhaps he could finally gain some perspective on his problem. Everyone Fitz had ever seen around Mack seemed to love him, with his quiet, easygoing demeanor. If it was possible for anyone to remind Fitz how to stay professional while working with a woman who wasn't and would never be interested in him, Mack seemed like his best bet.


	11. Chapter 11

"Slow down, Turbo. You're a blur, I can't keep up," Mack said, throwing an empty box from a board game over his shoulder to Fitz, who was trying to restore some of the game pieces he'd cannibalized for his own testing to their rightful homes.

"Sorry." Fitz frowned at a handful of snowflake-shaped counters, blanking on where they should go. "They'll be here in a few hours. I suppose I wanted to hear your opinion before I have to...I don't know—"

"Lock yourself in a room with this woman for another month or two? Fitz, there'll be so many people here that I doubt you'll have an opportunity to do or say something you'll regret. You'll probably have trouble hearing each other over Hunter and Bobbi arguing."

"Are they on or off right now?" Fitz asked, hoping Mack would know if Hunter had found yet another way to put himself on the outs with Bobbi or not. They were his friends and he cared what was going on with them, but from a practical perspective, Fitz needed to know if they should be split into separate testing groups.

"Sometimes it's hard to tell," Mack said, laughing. "I'm not sure they know half the time. I certainly can't keep track."

"I envy them a bit." Fitz took in Mack's widened eyes, and plowed ahead even though he knew he would sound a bit pathetic. "At least they can be honest with each other, even if they end up arguing."

"I don't know if I'd say that's true. Hunter hasn't told you about the concert he worked at Faneuil Hall, the open air thing?"

Fitz shook his head. "Don't think I heard about that. I was probably still in D.C."

"They put him on the security detail guarding the stage. Bobbi was there too. She loves the band that was headlining and he got her name on the list for the VIP section. Should have been great, right? Nope, not with these two. It all went downhill from there."

Fitz knew Hunter had a knack for making strange judgment calls where Bobbi was concerned, but it was difficult to see how this could have gone wrong. He'd wrangled access for Bobbi into an exclusive viewing area, probably followed by access to a glamorous backstage party, and that had somehow ended in an argument? Fitz's confused shrug seemed to communicate as much to Mack, who had to shake his head and sigh at the memory of the story for a moment before he could explain it.

"A few people in the audience tried to rush the stage, and Hunter had to hustle a couple of the backup dancers behind the scenes after some of the idiots in the crowd got a little handsy. Bobbi was watching this, of course, and Bobbi...being Bobbi..."

"She couldn't stand back, could she? No matter how much she says she's done with security work, how she's happy in the lab—" 

"Yeah, our girl couldn't watch it all go down without getting in there. She had to make sure someone had Hunter's back."

"Sounds like classic Hunter and Bobbi, to be honest."

Mack shook his head a little, looking down, the ghost of an exasperated grimace on his face. "While Bobbi was worried about someone having Hunter's back, she got to him backstage in time to see one of the backup dancers draped all over his front."

Fitz wiped his hand down his face, wincing as he pictured the disaster that must have unfolded from that point. "What was he thinking?"

"Hunter says he was trying to get away to secure the area, but the dancer was so grateful she attached herself to him." Mack raised his eyebrow, though, showing he wasn't as confident in Hunter's version of events as he would like.

"Ugh. We'd better split them up, then. I don't want either of them to be uncomfortable."

"No, I wouldn't do that. They're both saying they're fine now. We should just keep an eye on things."

Fitz frowned, wondering how much he'd missed while burying himself in studying the negative playtest reports and spending time on campus. "How'd all this happen without me hearing about it until now?"

"I got the story Thursday, when you were teaching your intro session." Mack's expression turned a little lighter. "If you think you were the only one doing a lecture that day..."

"Yeah, I can see that." Fitz said, deciding to put the remaining loose game pieces in a plastic bag and stuff them in a drawer somewhere, losing his patience for trying to match everything up.

"Hey, Fitz? You let me change the subject without much of a fight. You didn't intend to ask me about Bobbi and Hunter, did you?"

"No," Fitz admitted, rubbing his temples. He'd relaxed into talking about something else, _anything else_ , and pushed his worries about how to act around Jemma away, just as he'd been doing for the past week. "It's Simmons...Jemma..." He pushed the heels of his hands, hard, against his closed eyes in frustration. "Can't even decide what to call her, Mack. How will I survive another month or two of working with her?"

"Is she difficult to work with? I didn't get that impression from you the couple of times we talked while you were in D.C."

"No," Fitz squeaked out. He needed Mack's advice, but the process of getting it was excruciating. He couldn't imagine putting his predicament into words, especially as Mack had met Jemma only once, and not for very long. "Well, yes. Sometimes. But not because of her. It's me."

"You were pretty sure there were going to be conflicts before you started this, right? Game's looking pretty good, Turbo, aside from the tuning you said you needed to do. I don't know. With results like these, how bad could it have been? You aren't _that_ big a pain in the ass to work with." Mack grinned at him, clapping his hand on Fitz's shoulder. "So when are you going to tell me what the problem really is?"

Fitz took a deep breath, then plowed ahead before he thought through what he was trying to admit. "I've got a—I think I'm—She's just so—And I...shite." He'd been catching glimpses of how he felt out of the corner of his eye, like it was waiting in the shadows of his mind for the moment he let his guard down. No matter how hard he'd tried, he couldn't find a way to put her out of his thoughts.

Mack laughed again, a low, but not unkind, sound, and his expression was pure sympathy. "You're done, my friend. You're falling for her."

"No, I can't be," Fitz insisted, ducking under Mack's hand where it still covered his shoulder, and he begun to neaten the open boxes of spare parts littering his workstation.

"Maybe you think you shouldn't be, but you are. You don't think she—" 

"There were a couple of times I thought...maybe... I kissed her the night before I left, and while we were—" Fitz stopped, unable to put what the kiss felt like into words, "—well...it was fantastic until I remembered I had no reason to believe it was what she wanted."

"Did you ask her?"

Fitz shook his head. "No, I apologized and got the hell out of there. She made herself clear later, though. She said we were tired and under a lot of stress, or at least, that's the out she's giving me to help me save some shred of self-respect. She didn't even want to discuss it, really. I think she's hoping I'll get the point without her explicitly rejecting me, to keep that awkwardness from hanging between us while we still have to work together."

"I don't know, Turbo. I've been under tight deadlines before, staring at path handles in Illustrator until my eyes were crossing, but it never made me kiss anyone."

"I had no business doing it. When I consider what she's had to put up with, working in gaming... I don't know if you've noticed any of this, working on the art side of things." Fitz grabbed his phone, looking for the stomach-turning stuff he'd found that first night at the convention after they'd met, when he'd run an internet search to sate his curiosity about Jemma Simmons. It didn't take long to find some examples.

The article was from about a year ago, posted on a board gaming news aggregator site. Jemma had attended a midnight release of her fifth game and there was a photo of her next to the article, sitting at a table and peering with a quirked eyebrow over a hand of cards.

"Okay, there she is." Mack frowned down at the phone, his eyes scanning over the lines of text. "The article's pretty complimentary, Fitz. I don't know what you mean by—"

"Scroll down to the comment section."

Mack flicked his finger against the screen a few times, frowning a little at first, then looking angrier as he continued to read.

"Bunch of internet trolls. _She should roll some dice to see how many times she should suck my—_ " Mack stopped abruptly, looking up from the phone to Fitz, who motioned for him to read another. " _Shoulda hired a hotter model to pretend to be a gamer. This girl couldn't design shit._ " Mack's disgust was clear in the tone of his voice. "Are they all like this?"

"No, but how many of them _should_ she have to ignore? More to the point, ask me how much of that I have to put up with."

"You'll get no argument from me. She shouldn't have to deal with this kind of trash."

Fitz ground his teeth together. "On top of the rampant, idiotic sexism online, I'm sure she's had to suffer a dozen lovesick fools in this industry who treat her like a mythical creature, none of whom see her for who she is other than 'she likes games, so she must be my girlfriend'. Can you imagine what she must think of me, cornering her in her own home late at night and kissing her, with no reason to think she'd welcome it? I can't stop being angry with myself long enough to figure out what to do."

"You're not these guys, Fitz," Mack said, handing Fitz his phone back, and shaking it a little to make his point. "You do see her for who she is, don't you?"

"Yeah, I'm not a toxic internet troll, objectifying her when I don't know anything about her. _I'm_ the guy who worked by her side for weeks, who knows enough to recognize how talented and amazing she is, and I reduced her to someone to shove against a table and kiss without asking."

"But—" 

"I've apologized, and she's made it clear at least twice that she has no interest in discussing this any further. I should feel lucky she can put it behind her and still work with me, to be honest." Fitz shoved one of his boxes of salvaged electronics parts off the table, childishly enjoying the metallic clang of their impact on the floor.

Mack sighed and started to bend down, but Fitz stopped him with an outstretched hand, kneeling to deal with the mess on his own.

"If this is what you really think, what advice did you want from me?"

Fitz looked up at Mack, his indecision betrayed by the nervous twisting of his fingers in the wires coming out of a ruined power supply. "I suppose I wanted someone to convince me I was wrong, that I'd missed something. I genuinely...like her." Fitz rolled his eyes, hating how juvenile it sounded, nothing like the complex morass of emotions he felt for her that he couldn't put words to. "I admire her. I didn't care how long the days were, didn't even notice, most of the time. If it weren't for the embarrassment at what I've done, I wouldn't have wanted to leave. Even now, even with all the difficulty I've caused, I'm still looking forward to her being here."

"What if you just...waited to see what happens?" When Fitz scoffed, Mack kneeled next to him and began to help him gather up the scattered components. "Maybe you don't have to decide this now, Fitz. You can be around her and see how things go, watch to see how she might feel about you. I'm not saying you should pursue her if you think she doesn't want you to, but you don't have to rule it out either. Just because she's been the target of some crazy fools on the internet, does that mean it's impossible she might meet someone she's interested in through gaming?"

"No, I suppose it isn't impossible," Fitz admitted, his hands slowing down a little as he thought.

"You should be careful, if only so I can avoid seeing you like this again. No more kissing her without the two of you...and I know this is a radical idea..." Mack said, drawing the sentence out with a smirk, "...talking to each other first. About something _other_ than game design."

"I would like to be better friends with her." Fitz paced, thinking out loud. "We should collaborate again, for one thing. For all our differences, we have quite a bit in common, too. And she's fascinating, Mack, she really is. We haven't had a lot of time to talk about something other than this blasted game, but when we have...she's—" Fitz blushed, looking down. "I'm gushing a bit, aren't I?"

"Can't wait to meet her again," Mack said, and Fitz appreciated Mack passing up the opportunity to tease him. "Now let's get back to work."


	12. Chapter 12

Jemma was humming along with the radio as she steered her car through the exit off I-93, a bit of a guilty thrill going through her as she diverted away from the expressway early to drive past a certain unassuming-looking brick building. As the Charles River appeared before her, she glanced to the left, letting out a tiny gasp when she saw what she was looking for over the rise.

She knew there were many science museums all over the world, but the Boston Museum of Science was the one she'd seen featured in a BBC One documentary when she was eight and she'd always wanted to visit it in person. The rotunda housing the theater gave way to a long, crimson facade covered with banners advertising different exhibits, and Jemma wondered if she'd be able to sneak in a trip back here before she went home to D.C. 

The detour served another purpose, as well, as it added a few extra minutes to their arrival time. Jemma was feeling more and more nervous the closer they got to Fitz's apartment.

Daisy stirred to life in the seat next to her, yawning widely as she stretched and rolled her shoulders, blinking against harshness of the sun as it fell low in the sky.

"Are we almost there?" Daisy asked. "It looks like we're finally off the highway."

"Yes. We're a few side streets away from Fitz's apartment."

"Damn. He asked me to text him a little before we got there. Parking is kinda scarce around his place and he's got his friend Mack holding a spot for us in front of the building." Daisy tapped away at her phone. "They'll need time to come down so we can do the switcheroo on the cars."

"Ah." Jemma tried to smile, though she was oddly hurt that Fitz chose to communicate these details about their arrival to Daisy and not to her. She cleared her throat as she squinted at the next street sign, trying to change the subject. "Shouldn't be long now, our first turn is coming up soon."

"Hey, Fitz had to text me about a bug in the app we're using to stand in for the dynamic piece of the board layout. That's when he told me about the thing with the cars. He's not avoiding you, Jemma."

Jemma kept her eyes on the road ahead, working to keep her features neutral. "I didn't think—"

"You did think. You've thought he was avoiding you ever since he left D.C." Daisy rapped her on the shoulder with the back of her hand, but Jemma tried her best to ignore it. "Three days ago, you asked me a slew of weird questions and then kept changing the subject when I tried to answer you. Those contrived 'hypothetical' examples of how often it would be normal for two colleagues to talk to each other weren't fooling me, you know? You can choose to talk about this, or _not_ talk about this, but this 'vague questions and no details' thing isn't going to get you anywhere."

"I'm sorry, Daisy. I know I've asked you some odd questions."

"I give awesome advice, by the way. You're wasting a killer resource over here." Daisy ducked her head, trying to catch Jemma's eye as she continued to watch the road. "Talking it over with someone might help you figure things out, is what I'm saying."

"Perhaps...at the hotel tonight?" Jemma said, grateful she had Daisy with her. As much as Jemma didn't want to think about the things Daisy would push her to talk about, she had to admit that her troubles didn't seem to be going away on their own. "If you're still willing."

"Dude, we'd just met when all that stuff went down in my last relationship, but you were there for me. I'd still be flailing if it wasn't for you, and I for damn sure wouldn't have had the confidence to start talking to Lincoln."

Jemma smiled, though she could feel her cheeks heating up at Daisy's gratitude. "Things are going well there?"

"We're taking it slow, which he's totally cool with. Maybe it's all the time he's spent as a bartender, but he gets what's going on with me. Sometimes we just sit and talk. It's...nice."

"You deserve it, Daisy. You always did, you know, no matter what _he_ tried to tell you." Jemma studied Daisy for as long as she felt she could take her eyes off the road, making sure she wasn't upset at talking about her ex-boyfriend. For a long time after the breakup, she'd noticed how careful Daisy was to not even mention his name. References to him were enough to push her into thoughts that weren't constructive, self-recriminations and second-guessing of every decision she'd made.

"You deserve it too, you goober." Daisy smirked at her in silence for a long moment, but then added, "With Fitz, if that's what you're into."

"It hardly matters what I'm 'into', Daisy, if Fitz doesn't agree." Jemma immediately regretted engaging in this part of the conversation instead of deflecting, especially as they were about to arrive at Fitz's building.

"I guess you haven't noticed how he looks at you."

"As a colleague and with somewhat new feelings of friendship, I should expect." Jemma kept her eyes pointed at the road as Daisy scoffed. "It's possible he considered a romantic interest in me at one time, but I can assure you, he no longer seems to have that sort of curiosity."

"Jeez, Jemma. When you get clinical like this, that's when I can tell you're really trying to hide something. So spill."

Jemma waited, wondering if she should shift straight into denial and keep it to herself, but Daisy's offer was tempting. Jemma had been through every detail, every odd moment she and Fitz had shared, and she hadn't been able to make sense of it. Perhaps it was time to get input from someone else, and hope another perspective might shed some light on the whole sordid mess. 

"We had a near miss the night of the pool game, while we were working on the sabotage mechanic," Jemma admitted, ignoring the excitement filling Daisy's widened eyes and she launched back into speech before Daisy could interrupt. "We were still a bit drunk and some ill-advised stumbling put us in a position where I thought he would kiss me—but he didn't."

"Fitz seems like the type to be super cautious, though. Just because he didn't do it, that doesn't mean he didn't want to."

Jemma made another turn, glancing down at the directions on her phone to see their estimated time of arrival was only six minutes away. It was a relief to finally talk this mess through with someone, but now she wished they'd started a bit earlier in their trip from D.C. to Boston. 

"He wasn't that cautious a few nights later, when he _did_ kiss me."

"Okay." Daisy's hands gestured wildly, the movements communicating something between elated shock and utter exasperation. "Way to bury the lede, Jemma!"

"Yes, well, don't pop the cork on the champagne just yet. He did it, and then he shoved away from me like I'd turned into something out of a horror film."

"That can't be right, Jemma. He's more than just attracted to you, I guarantee it. It must be some kind of misunderstanding. Did you at least talk about it?”

"Fitz brought it up. He called me the next day, when he was on his way back here." Jemma winced. "He sounded uncomfortable from the beginning. Or perhaps not uncomfortable, but...resigned? As though he'd had to steel himself to have the 'I know I kissed you, but it didn't feel right and clearly we're just friends' conversation. He seemed like a man about to go in front of the firing squad, so I said it for him." 

"Said what? How could you be sure what he was going to say?"

"Daisy, he couldn't get away from me fast enough. There was the regret in his eyes when he broke off the kiss and the first thing he did was apologize. He certainly wasn't trying to communicate romantic interest of any kind. He seemed nervous, possibly because he was anxious not to hurt my feelings, and we simply don't have time for that sort of nonsense. I handled it for him, suggested we were tired and perhaps our judgment was a bit compromised."

"Is it possible...and I know you're the genius here, but hear me out...that he thought maybe you were the one who wasn't interested?" 

"I was rather unambiguous in my physical response." Jemma tried to broadcast complete certainty in her position, but Daisy's question raised an interesting point. Perhaps it was possible she'd misread the reasons Fitz had pulled away from her?

"You're gonna have to help me out with translating that into regular English." Daisy leered at her a little, an obvious attempt to lighten the mood. "'Unambiguous' means what, exactly? You kissed him back? You grabbed his ass? You tackled him to the ground and started grinding on him?"

"Daisy! Honestly." Jemma rubbed her forehead with a shaking hand, unsure how many details she wanted to admit. "I kissed him back...and I may have...run my hands up his chest a bit."

"Go get it, girl!"

"Daisy, please. I didn't 'go get' anything. I wasn't subtle about my reaction, and it seems something about that made him change his mind. Abruptly." She made the final turn and they were mere moments away from seeing Fitz and Mack waiting for them in front of the building. "I have to face him now, Daisy. I need to collect my thoughts, all right?"

"Yeah, but prepare yourself for more of this discussion at the hotel tonight, okay? I know what I saw when I was around you two. I don't know what he was thinking when he kissed you, but he's into you, Jemma. I'd bet on it."

"Daisy," Jemma begged, seeing the dot on her phone's map growing closer and closer. "I can't think about this now."

"Okay," Daisy agreed, sounding apologetic. "I totally get it. Time to work."

* * *

"That's Mack, isn't it?" Daisy leaned forward against her seatbelt, squinting at a tall figure standing in the narrow strip of grass and leaning against a car that was parallel-parked at the curb.

"I believe so."

Daisy put down the window and leaned out. "Hey! Mack!"

Mack gave them a wave and hustled into the car, pulling out in front of them as they approached, but instead of driving away, he put his hazards on and remained double-parked next to the car in front of the now open space.

"Fitz said one of us should go with Mack to the garage around the corner to check out where it is." Daisy's hand hovered over the door handle, and she craned her neck to watch the progress of Jemma's parking job. "I guess Coulson's renting a few spaces there for Fitz's beta testers, and we might end up over there too if there's nothing available on the street when we get here." 

Daisy jumped out before Jemma could stop her, just after the car settled into the space, and hurried to the passenger side of Mack's car. As the two of them drove away, they left Jemma to contemplate facing Fitz alone.

Jemma shut off the engine, closing her eyes to take a swift, cleansing breath. When she opened them, she saw a figure at the edge of the stairs leading to the front door, barely visible in the shadow of the porch. She knew it was Fitz from the way he moved, his fidgety body language so familiar to her as she watched him shift his weight nervously from left to right and back again. 

She got out, grabbing Daisy's messenger bag along with her own from the backseat before she headed up, looking at her feet for as long as she felt she could get away with it.

"Hello, Fitz," she said, when she got close enough that his features were visible in the waning sunlight. He stood there, silent for a moment, before he stopped blinking and greeted her in return, shaking his head as though he was coming out of some sort of fog.

"Can I get one of those for you?" he asked, gesturing to the straps over her shoulder while he held out his hand.

"No, I'm sure I—" Jemma began, but as she felt the weight of Daisy's laptop in one of the bags and didn't know when she'd be able to set down the load, she decided to hand it over. "Actually, that would be helpful. Thank you, Fitz."

"Which one of you packed the bag full of rocks?" he joked, pulling the strap over his head to carry the bag across his body.

"Daisy's replaced the innards of her laptop several times. She's refused, utterly dismissed, all attempts to talk her into replacing the entire thing. It's her baby."

"I take it all back. I understand having an attachment to an electronic device better than I should." Fitz turned, pulling the door open and gesturing for her to go first. She stepped into the vestibule and he slipped past, leading her up the stairs. "I have the second floor, such as it is." Fitz unlocked the door, again stepping to the side to let her by, and when they were both in, the door clicked softly shut behind them.

A long table ran along the wall after the room opened up, a bit cluttered with the sorts of things that tended to collect by the front door—keys, mail, magazines. He placed Daisy's bag carefully under the table, gesturing for Jemma to do the same with hers.

Once she was properly able to take in her surroundings, it all reminded her of Fitz. The walls were a soft shade of blue, one she could swear matched his eyes. Fitz's tall, L-shaped workbench was set into the opposite corner, extending along more than half of each wall. Several swing arm lamps were mounted over it, set up to provide a great deal of light at almost any angle. There was a tall stool nearby that was in more pristine shape than the top of the table, but the way it was shoved to the side suggested Fitz preferred to stand when he worked there.

His tools, some large and some so small and precise she was sure he must be shopping out of surgical instrument catalogs, were lined up carefully along the back. Parts were held in various bins and jars, in everything from re-used food storage containers to what looked like purpose-built canisters dotting the desk's surface, and there were an alarming number of burns cratering the surface of the wood.

"Yeah, this is a bit of a mess." Fitz swayed a little, his hands restless, as though he was torn between starting to neaten up and getting her out of there. "Thankfully, you shouldn't have to do any more than shield your eyes as you walk through. We're set up to work back here." He gestured for her to follow, disappearing into a hallway leading toward the rear of the apartment.

They reached the large, open area of Fitz's kitchen and living room, the latter of which was dominated by an oblong table. Judging by the way it was covered in bits of their prototype, feedback forms, and Fitz's laptop sitting at the far end, this was where Fitz had been running his beta tests of their game. 

"We'll be a bit cramped," Fitz said, rubbing his hands together and bobbing a bit on the balls of his feet.

Jemma felt terrible that he felt he had to apologize to her for the size or state of his apartment. She wondered if he really thought her inflexible enough to mind finishing their testing here, if he really believed she was so narrow-minded.

"I love it, Fitz," she said, deciding to show him nothing but utter positivity, hoping it would put him more at ease. "It's so lovely and—"

"Small?" he finished, smirking at her, but she could see his self-consciousness hiding behind it.

"Bright," she managed to choke out, turning away from him to hide her reaction. This wouldn't be the first time someone had assumed she was incurably rigid and judgmental, but she thought she and Fitz had grown close enough that he would see her more positively than this. She picked up a feedback form that was lying on the table, pretending to read it as she tried to imagine what she could say next.

"It is that, at least." His voice still sounded a bit flat, and Jemma wished Mack and Daisy would return to save them from this awkward conversation. "It's nowhere near as nice as your townhouse, and my testing area isn't as well-appointed as yours. I'm glad we did early development in D.C., as you're set up to accommodate that sort of thing much better than I am."

She rolled over what he'd said in her mind, trying to read between the lines. He'd seemed hesitant from the moment she'd arrived, making excuses and apologies, and then made the negative comparison between this place and her townhouse. It all came together for her in an instant, the realization that he was embarrassed because he felt his situation compared unfavorably with hers.

It was all so patently absurd that her first instinct was simply to tell him off, listing the multiple ways his assumptions were ridiculous and unfounded. Cambridge was at least as expensive to live in as her D.C. suburb, if not a bit more due to the nearby colleges inflating housing costs. She had a suspicion his rent was higher than her mortgage payment had been, before she'd paid off the townhouse. 

Even less flattering to her, the honest money that Fitz earned in academia and game design paid for this apartment, while it was her naiveté about the ruthlessness of the company she'd worked for that had given her the townhouse. By any measure Jemma could imagine, Fitz had no reason to be ashamed.

She swallowed back the urge to have it out with him, if only because she selfishly didn't feel ready to tell him about her abandoned biochem career and how it had led her, improbably, to game design and living in a townhouse she felt guilty for owning.

"The games you've successfully designed on your own, I suspect right here at this table, provide ample evidence to the contrary. We have space to test, easy access to caffeine," she noted, gesturing toward the kitchen as she raised her eyebrow at him in a desperate attempt to lighten the mood, "and we have you, Daisy, and myself, to crunch the data." 

"That reminds me. I have a surprise for you." He stood there, quietly, just looking at her, the silence stretching out until she realized he was waiting for some sort of response from her.

"Am I meant to guess?" she ventured, finally feeling more relaxed when he laughed at her response.

"Several surprises, actually, come to think of it." He rushed past her, pulling open a cabinet and producing several bags that he deposited on the counter. "I've just imported a truly absurd amount of loose tea from home, hand-picked by my mum, who has excellent taste in blends. You're welcome to a pot whenever you like."

Jemma ran her hand over the label, recognizing it right away, though she hadn't been home to see anything like it in ages. "I always think about having some sent over, but I never find the time to follow through. This is lovely, Fitz. Really."

"All right, that was just the opener. Come on, follow me." Fitz headed through another doorway, into a hallway that led to two closed doors, across from each other. He gestured dismissively to the one on the left first. "That's my room. It's where I've stuffed all the mess I couldn't find time to tidy up, so I'll thank you not to look in there."

"I promise," she said, barely holding back a smile behind her feigned solemn expression, trying to match this new lightness of his mood.

"This room, however, is—all right, so this isn't—it's something I thought might be helpful for you after I saw how you work in your own—" He groaned, his hand frozen on the doorknob of the mystery room. "Perhaps I should just show you."

Fitz threw the door open and Jemma peeked in, laughing when she saw the four whiteboards mounted on the wall, a perfect echo of the ones in her own workroom. He'd labeled them for her as well, and provided an absurd range of dry-erase marker colors. 

There was a futon shoved to the side, where the dimensions of the room were almost too small to accommodate it, giving Jemma the impression it had been displaced in favor of making the room into an office of sorts. Fitz had mounted a desk on the wall to the side of the whiteboards, a long tabletop held up by metal supports she suspected he might have made himself to get the desk to the perfect standing height for her. 

"I have a stool that's about right for the desk if you'd like, but you seem to move between your boards and desk quite a lot as you work and I didn't want it in your way if you didn't need it." He cleared his throat, crossing the room to get to the desk before he continued. "There's index cards, sticky notes, those thick pens you like, magnets for the whiteboards, and some other things I grabbed at the office supply store in these." Fitz pulled open one of the drawers on the small storage container on top of the desk to show her. Out of the corner of her eye, Jemma could see him leaning forward to watch her reaction as she took it all in. 

"It's—" she began, stopping when she wasn't sure what to say. He'd only been home for a week, and yet Fitz had somehow found time to transform a room in his apartment specifically for her.

"You shouldn't feel you're meant to stay tucked back here, Simmons, that's not what I'm trying to say." He was speaking so quickly now that the words were almost overlapping, and she could see his hand shaking a little when he closed the drawer he'd just opened a moment ago. "I noticed you sometimes needed a stretch of quiet here and there, and those always lead to a breakthrough for us with the game system. It's so crowded here, especially when we have all the testers in, so I wanted to make sure you had—"

"It's perfect," she whispered, letting her fingers trail along the sleek, lacquered surface of the desktop. "Absolutely perfect. Thank you, Fitz."

"The closet, over here," he said, gesturing behind them, "is where I store most of my games. Anything on the bottom two shelves have had parts cannibalized from them for design or testing of my own stuff. If you need any supplies, feel free to take anything you like out of those."

She watched him, pulling the closet doors open and talking, nervous energy radiating from him, and she couldn't imagine how she hadn't missed him more. "Really, Fitz. It's lovely. I appreciate all the work you must have—"

"We're back!" Daisy's voice rang out from the other room, followed by Mack bellowing for Fitz.

"Back here," Fitz called out, and Jemma could have sworn she saw a flicker of disappointment come over his face before he turned to leave, leading them back to the main room.


	13. Chapter 13

_Three weeks later_

Jemma erased a bit of the flowchart on one of the whiteboards, incorporating the changes she and Fitz had decided to try after crunching the data from their most recent test games. The group was finishing one last game for the night, but she was so sure they were on the right track that she was already adjusting their model in preparation for their final test.

"I'll take it to her." Jemma heard Bobbi's voice in the hall, followed by the sound of her long, confident strides. The door was open, but Bobbi rapped on the doorframe, waiting until Jemma acknowledged her.

"Thank you so much for waiting, I was just in the middle of a thought and..." Jemma wrote a few last words inside a circle on the chart, then capped the marker and turned around.

"It's no trouble. I hate being interrupted when I'm concentrating on something." Bobbi handed Jemma the papers in her hands, then leaned back against the wall. "We finished the last game and the guys were getting a little weird after drinking all those energy drinks. Thought I'd come back here for a little sanity."

"Fitz is drinking energy—"

"No," Bobbi said, covering her mouth while she laughed. "I can't imagine Fitz with _more_ nervous energy, can you? He'd spontaneously combust."

"You've known him for some time, then, have you?" Jemma shuffled through the papers Bobbi had given her, though she wasn't paying attention to anything she was looking at. She'd been trying to casually find out more about Fitz from one of the testers who seemed to know him well, and Bobbi seemed like the easiest one to talk to.

"Tufts had a board gaming club I joined while I was doing my graduate work there. I needed a hobby, something to get me out of the lab. I also had this idiot friend at the time who insisted it would be a great way to meet guys, but she stopped coming with me when she realized they actually intended to play the games and not just use the club as an excuse to arrange hook-ups."

"Your degree is in...?" Jemma asked, finding herself genuinely curious about Bobbi. From what she'd seen so far, Fitz had excellent taste in friends. She'd even found Hunter, who had his moments of unsolicited candor and unpredictability, to be good at heart, and the entire group was willing to do just about anything if they knew it was for Fitz.

"Biology."

Jemma brightened. "Ah, that's quite a coincidence! I have—" She cut herself off, remembering belatedly that talking about her degrees inevitably led to questions about why she no longer worked in those fields. "Oh, never mind, I don't want to derail you. Please continue."

Bobbi looked a little uncertain, but she picked her story up where she'd left off. "Fitz was in the group as well. He even brought prototypes for us to try out sometimes, if he had an idea for a game he was trying to refine. Given that he's a...handful of years...younger than me, I assumed he was another student. Found out he was teaching his first full year's worth of courses when one of his students came bursting in one night blathering on about how important his father is, threatening to either have Fitz's job or his head on a pike if his grade didn't get adjusted."

"I have a feeling it didn't go as planned?" Jemma tried to imagine Fitz, principled as he was, reacting to a baseless, strong-arm tactic like that.

"It really didn't. Mack was in the group as well, and so was Hunter. I used to do a little security work to help pay for books and rent, and that's where I met Hunter. He always came to board game nights with me. Said it was a cheap date, the jerk."

"I imagine none of you were particularly impressed with this student's attempt at intimidation?"

"Between Hunter, Mack and I putting a little muscle between the jerkwad and his target, and Fitz giving him a telling off I'm pretty sure I'll never hear topped, I think we cemented the friendship that night."

"He's lucky to have all of you."

"We're lucky to have him. Fitz, well, he's just great. The amount of crap he cheerfully puts up with from Hunter alone..." Bobbi laughed again, and Jemma joined in.

"Fitz is indeed quite wonderful," Jemma said, the thought slipping out before she really considered what she was saying.

Bobbi gave her a significant look, one that made Jemma clutch the test reports to her chest with one hand and use the other to neaten up the edges of her diagram on the whiteboard. "The two of you work well together. I was surprised, actually. Fitz is a bit of a loner where work is concerned. He all but runs off every teaching assistant he's ever been assigned, but the two of you are like a well-oiled machine."

"Our partnership has been rather fruitful thus far, or at least, I hope it has. The game is certainly the best thing I've ever had a hand in designing."

"Did you ever consider anything else...with Fitz?" Bobbi sounded hesitant as she leaned forward to catch Jemma's eye, though her expression was nothing but a knowing smirk.

"I—" Jemma began, her eyes locking on the test reports in her hands again as she cast wildly around for something to say.

"Hey, Jemma?" Daisy interrupted them, sticking her head into the room and grinning in a way that made clear she had also indulged in a few energy drinks. "That new guy Mack brought with him—Joey? He's leaving, and he said he could drop me off at the hotel. I told Lincoln we could video chat for awhile tonight, and I need to get back in time to catch him while he's on his dinner break."

"Certainly, Daisy. I'm so sorry." Jemma felt awful, thinking about all the extra work Daisy was putting in, and she made a mental note to speak to Coulson about some sort of bonus for Daisy, Mack, and the beta testers. "I wish I'd known, I could have wrapped up—" 

"No, no. I know you and Fitz need to keep working. He's finishing up the last few lines of code before you can churn a few more simulations with those last changes. Unless you're tired, and you wanted to get back?" Daisy was trying to look casual with her last question, but Jemma could sense Daisy was hoping to have a little privacy to speak with Lincoln.

"I really should stay a bit longer," Jemma said, trying not to laugh when Daisy completely failed to cover her gleeful relief. "I'll be at least an hour, I should think."

"Thanks, Jemma!" Daisy reached forward to give Jemma's hand a squeeze, and Jemma waited until Daisy had disappeared to allow herself to giggle a little.

"I guess Lincoln's the guy she's seeing?" Bobbi asked, raising her eyebrow.

"Yes. He's very nice, and Daisy deserved a good turn for a change. Keeping out of the hotel room for a bit is the least I can do after I've dragged her out of town for weeks."

* * *

Fitz watched Daisy fly past him, packing her laptop into her bag in such a rush that she nearly forgot the power cable until she tried to zip up the bag and discovered it in the way.

"You're all set on the sim code, right, Fitz?" she asked, pulling the bag over her head as she was already headed toward the door with Joey in tow.

"Yes, it's already running," he called after her, and he barely got a wave in return before she was gone.

"Guess she was in a hurry?" Mack offered, as he leaned back in his chair, his pencil idly scratching over the small sketch pad he carried with him. He turned it around after a moment, showing them a cartoon version of Daisy. The Daisy in Mack's sketchbook was running through an open door with her bag trailing behind her in one hand and Joey, held by the collar of his shirt, in the other.

"I don't blame her, she's got a boyfriend she misses and we've been working for most of the day," Fitz pointed out. Not for the first time, he envied her situation, thinking of the quiet happiness that radiated from Daisy whenever she returned to the group after calling Lincoln during one of their breaks.

Hunter plucked the sketchbook out of Mack's hands, taking a closer look at the drawing. "Taking your inspiration in what's around you?"

"I have to, I guess. Can't get started on anything for the game until they drop this super-secret theme on us." Mack frowned at Fitz, who shrugged back.

"We should find out more details at the next vidcon with Coulson. And for the record, the secrecy wasn't my idea, Mack. I'd have had a much easier time contributing to the design if there'd been something solid for _me_ to use for inspiration as well."

"Something other than Simmons, d'you mean?" Hunter's voice was muffled, as he'd stuck his head in fridge to search for something, but that didn't stop Fitz from immediately shushing him.

"For the love of—Hunter, you can't say things like that." Fitz made sure his voice was low, and he checked over his shoulder to make sure Simmons hadn't come in and overheard him. 

"Or what?" Hunter asked, triumphantly holding up a beer he'd found after an exhaustive search. "She might be the last person on Earth to find out how disgustingly gone you are for her? I'm starting to see little hearts around your head when you're both in the same room, mate."

Fitz buried his face in his hands. "Hunter, I still have to work with her. Please don't—"

"Every time I wonder how it's possible she doesn't know how much you fancy her, I'm reminded that somehow you don't see the utterly sickening way she looks at you, too." Hunter took a long swig from the bottle, somehow managing to smirk and drink simultaneously. "Made for each other, the pair of you, if either one of you had the least bit of sense."

"Until you can go more than a week without infuriating Bobbi with your damn fool behavior, you might want to take it easy on the romance advice." Mack chuckled, shrugging his shoulders when Hunter looked at him, hurt, around the side of the bottle.

Bobbi reappeared and Fitz tried to stifle his laughter, not wanting to give Bobbi any reason to ask what was so funny. "Hunter, I have to hit the store before it closes, okay? If I'm giving you a ride—"

"A ride?" Hunter asked, setting the beer down on the counter behind him, forgotten. "I thought we'd stay in tonight at yours, Bob, maybe see what's new on Netflix?"

Rolling her eyes, Bobbi shook her head. "I have an early morning tomorrow, and you complain whenever I set the alarm any earlier than ten." As Hunter drew breath to start their inevitable argument, Bobbi headed it off with a terse, "We'll talk about it in the car," as she pulled him away.

"I'll head out too, Turbo." Mack pulled out his keys, but then gestured to the mess on the table. "Unless you want some help clearing this up? Or...with anything else?" He looked toward the back of the apartment, and Fitz realized he was making a reference to Jemma still being there.

"No, Mack. It's fine. I'll be fine." Fitz smiled tiredly at Mack, appreciating his friendship yet again. It was nice to have someone who would always offer to help, even if he didn't know if his help was needed.

"Hey, I meant to ask you. Do you think we'll all be able to sit in on the video call with QRG? Gotta admit, I'm dying to know what they've had to keep so secret from all of us."

"Absolutely. It's the four of us, you and Daisy, as well as Jemma and me. You should plan to be here, Mack, if you can."

"Looking forward to it. It's about time for me to start doing more than just helping you test. I'll see you tomorrow, man." Mack called the last words over his shoulder as he headed out, and Fitz heard his front door click shut a few moments later.

* * *

Jemma heard Fitz coming, but she waited to look up until he was silhouetted by the overhead light in the hall, toying with the hinge as he leaned on the doorframe.

"Hello, Fitz." She looked up at him from where she'd curled up in the corner of the futon, paging through her notes to ensure she hadn't missed any of the changes she'd intended to make. "I've finished, I think, except for this passage? I can't quite make out the writing." She held the paper up to him, pointing to the middle section of the feedback form.

She'd expected Fitz to take it out of her hands, but he sat next to her instead, pulling the page close to his face as he squinted at it. "Hunter's writing. Absolutely unintelligible by most, until you've learned how to decipher it." Fitz chuckled, shaking the paper a little as he smirked at her. "It's nothing important. Just says, 'If Bobbi wins against me one more time, I'm boycotting this bloody game.'"

Jemma laughed. "I suppose we can safely ignore that." She reached to take the paper back just as he moved to drop it in her lap, their hands colliding in mid-air. They both pulled back immediately, staring at each other in silence, before she plucked the paper from his grip and cleared her throat. "With that taken care of," she said, trying to change the subject, "I've finished making the changes on the model here. Daisy let me know you've updated the simulation software, so I imagine we've done everything we can before the final test."

"Yeah." His voice was distractingly low and she was suddenly mindful of their closeness. He was sitting right next to her, their knees brushing as his ever-restless body language caused him to fidget with his hands in his lap. "Everyone else has gone, but the simulations should be done in about a half hour, if you'd like to stay to see the results."

"About that," she began, hesitant to mention it with her new awareness of the two of them being alone. She looked down at the pile of papers in her lap, unable to meet his eyes as she spoke. "I promised Daisy some privacy at the hotel for the next hour or so. Of course, I could just go out some—"

"No," he said, interrupting her before she got too far. When she risked a look at him, her heart raced at his hopeful expression. "I was about to make dinner, if you'd like to join me. Probably just boil some pasta and throw it in some sauce. It's nothing fancy, but—"

"I'd love that," she said, unable to stop herself from interrupting as he stumbled over the words of his invitation. "What can I do to help?"

Fitz shrugged. "Keep me company?"

She nodded and he stood up, holding his hand out to help her to her feet. She stared at it for what she knew was a moment too long, but he waited patiently, steady and unmoving in front of her. When their fingers slid together, she rose shakily to her feet. His other hand was on her forearm to steady her as they stared into each other's eyes, staying that way until he shook his head a little and released her. 

She allowed herself one brief moment of disappointment after he turned his back, then she followed him out to the kitchen, reminding herself yet again that they were only friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of you may have noticed the total chapter count is now 24, instead of 25. In going through the rest of the draft, I found another chapter that was a little on the light side in total word count, so I've combined it with the chapter that followed it. Just in case anyone was curious...


	14. Chapter 14

Fitz shook a handful of salt into the water before replacing the lid on the pot, trying not to think about Jemma, perched on a stool across the room with her nose buried in the pile of reports she'd brought with her. He pulled the freezer open, hesitating for a moment over the choices available.

"I have a very personal question for you, Simmons," he began, choosing two of the bags before he looked over his shoulder at her. She was blinking at him, eyes wide, and he wondered if his attempt at levity had gone amiss. "Sorry, it's not really...it isn't as dire as..." he trailed off, feeling a bit silly. "Brussels sprouts or baby peas?" he asked, weakly, holding up the bags.

She laughed. "I'm not sure I should be comfortable discussing this, but I'd prefer the peas, I think."

Fitz tossed the brussels sprouts back into the freezer and popped the peas into the microwave. "Frozen, I'm afraid, but they're pretty good. I used to buy everything fresh, and then I'd forget to eat things until it was too late. Frozen's much more forgiving."

"Your lecturing schedule keeps you too busy to keep up with your groceries?"

"Sometimes, but that isn't really the reason. I can't claim to be much of a vegetable enthusiast. I think I conveniently put them out of my mind until they've gone off, yet I can still feel morally superior for having bought them in the first place."

Jemma giggled, shaking her head a little, and Fitz wondered if he could make her laugh that way again before the night was out. 

"I hate to displace whatever illusions you must have about me, Fitz, but I'm no stranger to frozen vegetables myself."

"I'm scandalized," he said, holding a hand over his heart for a moment before he dropped the pasta into the boiling water.

"You've seen me eat dinner more times than I can count. Surely you noticed that every meal wasn't perfectly balanced or made of farm-fresh ingredients."

"I assumed I was a poor influence on you," he said, throwing the words over his shoulder and then beaming at the wall in front of him when he heard her laugh yet again. He gave the sauce, heating in a pan on the rear burner, a quick stir.

"You're sure I can't help? I could keep an eye on the sauce for you if—"

He answered her quickly, after picturing the two of them bumping into each other as they crowded side-by-side in front of the cooktop. "One person job, I'm afraid." 

"All right, then. If you're sure," she said, and he found himself scrutinizing the timbre of her voice, worried he'd somehow hurt her feelings by refusing her help. He couldn't imagine it was that important to her, but with the way she'd begun to dominate his thoughts, it was difficult not to over-analyze everything. "Do you enjoy cooking?" she asked, and he was grateful for the change of subject.

He blinked for a moment, considering the question. Ridiculous notions of what he _should_ say flitted through his mind as he wondered if there was a specific answer she was looking for before he came crashing back to reality. As much as he'd like it to be, this wasn't a date. If he spent the evening trying to impress her while she was merely making polite conversation, he'd eventually say something silly and make her uncomfortable.

"Means to an end, I suppose. I can't make anything too crazy, only the sorts of simple things we used to have when I was growing up."

"We?"

"My mum and me. It was just the two of us, from as far back as I can remember. She worked late a lot, so I learned how to do my share pretty early."

"I think I'd like your mum," Jemma said, her voice sounding softer, as though she was hesitant to wander into this new territory. "She does have excellent taste in tea blends, just as you promised."

"She'd be thrilled to hear you say so," he said, raising his voice to be heard over the beeping of the kitchen timer as it went off. Fitz couldn't help thinking about how much his mum would like Jemma, as well. When he was growing up, she'd pushed Fitz to find someone, anyone, who could understand him. His accelerated schooling had made it almost impossible to make any truly close friends, and he'd long preferred tinkering with broken electronics or getting lost in drawing schematics to spending time with any of his classmates.

Fitz snatched the pot off the burner to take it to the sink, draining the water out quickly before he transferred the pasta to the sauce. A few flicks of his wrist tossed it all together, and he watched carefully to make sure he didn't dump half their dinner on the floor.

She applauded, and when he glanced at her again, she looked honestly impressed. He hadn't considered his cooking skills remotely thrilling before now, but he could feel his cheeks heating at her reaction.

"It's just the fastest way to do it," he explained, transferring everything in the saucepan into a large bowl before he carried it out to the table. 

"This basket with the tea towel, it's for the bread you've been warming up, isn't it?"

He looked back at the kitchen and saw Jemma with his oven mitt, pulling the bread out of the oven. "I'll get that," he told her, waving her away.

"Don't be ridiculous, Fitz. I'll just pop this on the table, shall I?"

"All right," he agreed, grudgingly. "But when you bring that in here, just sit down, all right? I'll bring the rest out."

They were heading toward each other, Fitz on his way back for the vegetables and Jemma, carrying the basket of bread. She grinned at him as they passed and his breath caught. The evening might be more difficult than he thought, giving him a taste of what he'd like the spend the rest of his life doing, while knowing all the time that it would come to an end, and far too soon.

* * *

"This is amazing, Fitz." She gave him an appreciative smile with her fork still hovering in front of her mouth, after tasting her first bite. "I still wish you'd allowed me to help."

"You got the bread from the oven," he pointed out. "I shouldn't have even let you do that. I'm surprised my mum didn't sense me putting a guest to work in the kitchen. I would've been stuck on the phone with her telling me off for the rest of the night if she had."

"I'm not an ordinary guest, Fitz. I've been haunting your house for weeks." She narrowed her eyes at him as he looked innocently back at her. "What must you think of me? I'm remembering all the times I allowed you to make the tea while we were working out of my townhouse."

"No, Simmons." He was reacting as though she'd been serious, but she'd noticed before how Fitz tended to take people literally, especially when he was tired. "Honestly, that bit about you being the guest wasn't quite it. I just...wanted to do it."

"Ah," she said, stirring in the parmesan cheese she'd just sprinkled over the top of her pasta, watching it disappear as she tried to think of something to say. "I certainly appreciate it."

"Oh, bollocks," he swore quietly, under his breath, and she had to stifle a laugh at the abrupt change in the tone of their conversation. "I have a bottle of red that would be perfect with this. Not that I'm that much of an expert, but...I suppose this is the one pairing I'm reasonably sure is right. Would you like some?" He pushed up from the table, half standing and half sitting, as he looked to her for her answer.

Jemma's first instinct was to refuse, remembering her inability to keep her focus on the business aspects of her relationship with Fitz the last time she'd had something to drink around him, but turning it down seemed silly. They were adults. Surely she could control herself if she held herself to a single glass.

"That would be lovely, Fitz. Thank you."

He returned with a newly-opened bottle of wine and two goblets, pouring hers first and then one for himself. They both remarked on the flavor after taking their first sips, then fell into silence. Jemma had never quite noticed how loud the scrape of a fork against the bottom of a dish could be, until that moment.

Fitz's laptop beeped, a cue that another round of simulations were done, and she silently thanked the computer for choosing that moment to break the uncomfortable quiet.

"You know, some people would caution me not to say anything out loud for fear of bad luck, but as I don't believe in anything as silly as that, I'll go ahead and do it. I think this adjustment we made earlier is the final fix we needed."

Fitz nodded, and she felt a little better when she noticed how relieved he seemed to be that one of them had found something to talk about. "I do as well. It's such a small tweak that it shouldn't break anything that was working before, but it should be enough to keep the stalemates from occurring."

They smiled at each other, taking a few more bites, and she realized that over the hours they'd spent working together on this project, they'd surely exhausted all the conversation two people could be capable of on a single subject. The quiet descended again, threatening to be terminal this time.

"Let's not talk about the game," Fitz suggested. "How about...anything _but_ the game?"

"We've been so focused on it." Jemma laughed a little. "I'm not sure I can comprehend thinking of anything else, but you're right, Fitz. Why don't you ask me something? Anything you like."

He thought for a moment and she worried about the strained look in his eyes as he studied her. She was just beginning to wonder if he simply didn't find her at all interesting outside their shared interest in game design when he took a deep breath and blurted out his first question.

"How did you meet Daisy?"

"At the bar, the same one she dragged the two of us to while you were in D.C." Jemma thought back, remembering how Daisy had been curled up in the corner of a booth, tapping madly at the keyboard of her laptop. "She broke up with her ex that night, but it hadn't happened yet when we met. The dolt was stalking around the bar, arguing with some people and generally making a nuisance out of himself, and I noticed something about the way Daisy was watching him that just gave me a horrible feeling. I wasn't having the best night myself, so I took a chance and sat down across from her."

Fitz had stopped eating, listening carefully to the story, his eyes so intense and blue as he stared at her that Jemma had to take a moment to swallow before she regained the use of her voice.

"Why was your night so bad?"

"No cheating. That's a different question, Fitz." She couldn't help it. Everything they did together felt like a game, somehow, some sort of challenge that required structure and order. "You've already asked me one, and the rules say you can't ask another until I've answered the first."

"The rules?" There was a gleam in his eye, the same one that was there every time they sat across from each other with dice or cards in their hands. "I'm sorry. Minus one point to me, then. Please continue."

It should have been a strain, this tendency of theirs to turn everything into a competition, but it wasn't. It felt natural, almost essential, and she keenly felt its loss when he wasn't around to challenge her. 

She cleared her throat, leaning into the noise theatrically to amuse him. "As I was saying, Fitz." Thinking back to that night, her mood darkened as she recalled what had happened next. "I sat down with Daisy only to discover that Lincoln had dared her to prove her hacking skills by breaking into the computer system at the bar. She'd just planted her fake order, buying a daiquiri for every person in the bar, when her ex realized what she was doing."

"The same ex you told me about before? This was the awful break-up?"

Jemma nodded, a shiver running through her as she remembered the way the man had leaned over the table, accusing Daisy of horrible things in the coarsest language imaginable. "He insinuated that perhaps Daisy was being unfaithful to him...with every man in the bar. Of course, he put it much more colloquially. He wasn't very enthusiastic about sharing Daisy's attention with anyone else."

"Reprehensible," he interjected, sitting back a little from his plate as though the image had put him off his dinner.

"That was when he rounded on me, demanding to know who I was and what I wanted. Daisy told me later this was the last straw for her. When she saw his anger pointed at someone who had been reaching out to her, it all became clear. She told him off and gave him until the next morning to get his things and move out of their apartment, prompting him to issue some rather creatively-worded threats before Daisy began to dial 911 on her phone. He had a few outstanding warrants, apparently, and the threat was enough to show him that she'd finally had enough of his nonsense."

"Simmons," he began, his voice hard and his face impossible to read. "This man yelled at you...and Daisy...and threatened both of you? Is he still around? I mean, are you sure both of you are safe?"

"It's been quite some time, Fitz, and neither of us have seen him since." He still looked concerned, but Jemma was determined to get through the story. "When he stalked out of the bar, Daisy realized she'd just given herself nowhere to sleep that night, so I invited her to stay with me. I'll admit I was worried he'd follow us that night, but by all accounts, he indulged his temper by trashing their apartment and then disappeared."

"How long has it—"

"A little less than a year," she answered, wincing when she realized she'd interrupted him yet again. "Sorry. I should do you the favor of allowing you to finish your sentences."

"I don't mind," he said, looking deeply into her eyes for a moment until he suddenly looked down, twisting his fork in the pasta and concentrating intently on his plate. 

"I quickly discovered Daisy's rather prodigious ability for coding and app design. She was concerned about how to cover the rent on her own, which gave me the idea to enlist her help with my data modeling. Creating an app as a tie-in to my last game was her idea, I should tell you, and it was obviously brilliant. I wish we could have met under better circumstances, but..."

"She's lucky to have you as a friend."

"I'm lucky to have _her_ ," she countered, and she held up her glass in silent acknowledgement of Daisy's friendship. 

"I'd invite you to ask me something," Fitz said, pausing to take another bite, "but I'm sure I don't have any stories as interesting as yours."

"You can't refuse now. It's against the rules." She grinned at him as he drummed his fingers on the table, waiting for her question. "Let's begin with something easy. Tell me about the course you're teaching."

"You may regret asking that. I'm told I can be quite boring, talking about this stuff."

"I'll wave my napkin if I need to be rescued." She snatched it from her lap, demonstrating by twirling it in front of her as Fitz pretended to be annoyed.

"I'll watch for your surrender, then. It's Fundamentals of Power Systems." He looked around for a moment, as though he was trying to decide where to start. "These," he said, holding up his phone, "and devices like it, are dominating the electronics landscape. Every new device generation, users demand more features, better performance, and app developers are pushing hardware to the limit. We can do amazing things with this thing we all carry in our pockets, but everyone has the same complaint."

"Battery life?" she guessed.

"Right. Miniaturization used to be the limiting factor, but not anymore. The future of electronics is in overcoming power limitations. We have to build new systems, find new ways of extending the same amount of power over a longer period of time, and innovate with battery cell technology. My course is meant to push the poor, unfortunate souls who've chosen it as an elective to find new ways of doing that."

"I'm terribly sorry, Fitz, but I'll have to dock you another point for lying to me. That isn't boring at all! It sounds absolutely vital. I wouldn't be at all surprised if your course led one of your students directly into their future specialty."

"One of my alumni, she's just taken the job that Stark Industries was trying to recruit—" he began, but quickly cut himself off. Jemma suspected it was Fitz, himself, who had originally been pursued for the position.

"And how are your students so far this semester?" she asked, giving Fitz an out so he wouldn't have to flounder past the incompleted thought he'd left hanging.

Fitz crinkled his nose, chewing thoughtfully for a moment before he responded. "Well, several of them are excellent. A few more will scrape through with hard work, and a handful will get a terrible shock when the grades get posted. I'm told I'm the toughest grader in the department and I'd wager it's not helping my statistics on those 'rate my professor' websites, but I can't fathom handing out passing grades for work that would have to crawl uphill to be called mediocre."

Jemma nodded. "I'm in complete agreement, though I do hope your policy won't sully your online reputation too badly. If it will make you feel better, I'll award you one of your docked points back for such an excellent answer, and you can ask me another, if you'd like."

"Would you like to stay and watch a movie or something? I've got ice cream for dessert, if that's any further enticement."

She blinked at him, still trying to digest what he'd asked. "Is that...your question for...I suppose it doesn't matter if it is or not?" she babbled, horrified as she watched his face fall after she failed to answer him.

"You don't have to—"

"Yes," she said, a little too loud in her haste, but she felt a lot better about it when the smile bloomed over his face. "That sounds lovely."

* * *

Fitz got two bowls out of the cabinet, pausing to stare blankly at them for a moment before he remembered he was meant to be putting ice cream into them so they could start the movie.

"I think I've found one," she called, and Fitz hurried to drop the last scoop in the second bowl. "There's a bit of a problem with it, though."

Popping the container back in the freezer, he looked over at his television to see the preview screen for a movie he'd been tempted to watch dozens of times but had never found the time.

"What's wrong with it?"

"Well, I'm certain you've already watched it, for one." She looked at him, her eyebrows raised and her expression hopeful, and he honestly thought that if he'd seen the movie a hundred times he would have denied it.

"Never. That's why it's still in my queue. I keep meaning to watch it, though."

"It's also quite long," she said, gesturing at the run time on the preview screen. "I wouldn't want to keep you up too late if you have to be on campus early tomorrow."

"I don't have to be there at all tomorrow, actually. I'm free until our test session begins at six."

"So you wouldn't mind...?"

"It's perfect," he assured her, trying not to think too much about why the word 'perfect' always seemed to be on the tip of his tongue when she was with him. He gestured to the couch, handing her a bowl and a spoon. "Another glass of wine?"

"Oh," she said, looking a bit conflicted. "I enjoyed it with the meal, but I don't know if—"

He watched her struggle to answer and considered what this evening might look like to her—a surprise invitation to stay longer than she'd originally intended, followed with an offer to ply her with more alcohol. She was likely thinking back to the last time they'd had too much to drink, or the way he'd taken advantage of her when they were both tired and giddy after finishing the first version of their game.

"I'm sorry. Of course I understand why you wouldn't be comfortable with me suggesting we should...I honestly didn't intend to—" He stopped himself with a frustrated huff, unsure what he should say.

"Fitz?" She put down her bowl and stood, her hands a tangle in front of her. "Do you think I don't trust you? That I think you would try to get me—"

"I wouldn't," he said, trying to keep her from finishing that thought. "I wanted another glass myself, but I have other things to drink. We can switch to—"

"I trust you, Fitz. Of course I trust you." She walked back to the table and poured a bit more wine into each of their glasses, then took a sip from hers as she handed the other to Fitz. "Let's start the movie, all right? Or we'll be up half the night."


	15. Chapter 15

They were about an hour into the movie when Jemma found herself stretching her neck from side to side, noticing how the rest of her body was feeling a little creaky as well. She'd been holding a rigid posture as they sat next to each other on the couch, trying to avoid straying too close to Fitz.

At the end of the next scene, he held up the remote and paused the movie. "Sorry. You looked a little uncomfortable. Did you want to call it a night? We could pick this up another time."

"No," she said, feeling herself blush a little at how quickly she'd answered. "I mean, I'd like to see the rest, but perhaps we could take an intermission?"

"Agreed. I could use one as well," he said, stretching his arms over his head. "Would you like some water?" he asked, grabbing the empty ice cream dishes and standing up.

"Oh, let me bring the dishes to the sink, Fitz." She frowned as he held them high, away from her, and walked them into the kitchen before she could stop him.

"I think I could forgive myself if I allowed you, _my guest_ , to get the water from the fridge while I rinse these out," Fitz called over his shoulder, and Jemma pretended to be shocked before she joined him in the kitchen.

"Your mum should be ringing any moment now to tell you off, but I'd be happy to take the phone and defend you, if you like." 

"I'd appreciate that," he said, laughing. He was quiet for a moment, glancing at her a few times as he swished some soapy water inside the bowls. "Simmons..." he began, sounding hesitant. "Did you have plans for tomorrow?"

"I expect Daisy might like to..." she began, but stopped herself when it occurred to her that he might not be asking out of idle curiosity. "Actually, I have nothing at all in mind." She was tempted to ask him if he thought they should take the afternoon to work more on the game before the test group arrived, but she stopped, hoping he was asking for a different reason.

"Have you been to Boston before?"

"Just once. I did a campus visit here when I was over from the U.K., looking at colleges. I didn't see any of the city at the time. The visit was quite brief."

"It would be a shame if you were here a second time and you never got to sightsee. If you think we're in good shape for testing tomorrow—"

"I do," she broke in, unable to stop herself from interrupting. Perhaps she should have let him talk, but the relieved look on his face after she'd agreed with him so quickly told her otherwise.

"If you aren't sick to death of me, perhaps I could show you a few of my favorite places?"

"Yes," she said. "Oh! Not 'Yes, I'm sick to death of you.' I meant, 'Yes, I'd like that.'"

He turned the bowls upside-down on the drying rack, shaking the stray droplets of water off his fingers and into the sink. "There's an exhibit about light and color at the Museum of Science right now. I wondered if, given your theming for _Spectrum_ , you'd be interested in that?"

Jemma struggled to keep her face calm, to not immediately scream 'yes' at him again. When a beat had passed, she allowed what she felt was a more subtle, acceptable level of excitement and interest to come through as she said, "That sounds lovely."

"Right," he said, looking down after he took one of the bottles of water from her, but she could see a small, pleased-looking smile on his face. "Should we...?" he said, after a long, quiet moment, gesturing back toward the television.

Jemma nodded, following him back, then felt mortified as a yawn escaped her before she could stop it, just as Fitz turned back to look at her.

"Ah. You're starting to get tired," he observed, stepping back from the couch a little. "You take this and stretch out. I'll get a pillow or something and sit on the floor."

"Don't be ridiculous, Fitz. I'm fine. I'm not that tired, really. I have no idea where that yawn came from."

"The company's a bit boring?" he suggested, but the look on his face made it clear he was joking. "The hours have been long the last few days, Simmons. I'm sure we're both tired, and for good reason."

"It would hardly be fair to relegate you to the floor," she argued, sitting down and patting the cushion next to hers.

"Wait, I have an idea." He pulled a small table from its usual position against the wall and slid it in front of them, then grabbed the throw pillow from her side of the couch. After he sat down, he slouched, throwing his legs up on the table, then put the pillow against his hip.

"Where should I—" she began, not really believing he meant for her to curl up next to him.

"Is that not enough room?" he asked, indicating the space next to him, frowning as he looked more closely at it. "I suppose you would have to squeeze in there a bit."

"No, it's fine, actually." She chastised herself, feeling silly for her hesitation. He'd given her as much space as he could, and he clearly wasn't bothered by the idea of her lying her head on a pillow that was braced against him. It wasn't Fitz's fault that she would find it distracting, and she surely couldn't refuse without stumbling over an insincere-sounding explanation. Arranging herself carefully, she laid down, trying to keep the weight of her head on the pillow instead of pressing into him.

"Ready to start?" he asked, his voice oddly soft as he looked down at her. She didn't trust her voice, so she just nodded, watching him hit the button on the remote to pick up where they'd left off.

She felt her eyelids growing heavy not ten minutes later, every blink getting longer until she realized she was missing entire lines of dialogue each time she closed her eyes. She tried to think of a way to tell Fitz they needed to stop, that she needed some bright lights and tea to wake up enough to drive back to the hotel, but the words died in her throat as she snuggled into the pillow, feeling the warmth of his body radiating through it. She closed her eyes once more, telling herself she'd just take a quick nap, when everything faded blissfully to black.

* * *

Fitz couldn't help peeking at her from time to time, his interest in the movie paling next to thinking about Jemma and how much he was enjoying her company. She was getting closer and closer to sleep and he knew he should stop the movie and get up, but when she burrowed her head further into the pillow, it stole any will to suggest she leave.

He watched the movie, rationalizing that a short nap might revive her a bit, make her alert enough to drive back to the hotel safely. If he was being honest, though, he simply didn't want the night to end.

She shifted, drawing his attention again, and he saw her paw tiredly at her hair where it had fallen over her face. A scowl dominated her features when her sleepy, uncoordinated hands weren't able to fix the problem, and she moaned softly in discomfort.

Trying not to disturb her by brushing against her face, he moved slowly, looping his shaking fingers under the offending strands of hair, and settled them behind her ear. She sighed and stretched out, nestling her shoulder onto the pillow, the top of her head pressing into his side. He tried to pull away and she moaned again, burrowing her head even closer to him.

"Simmons," he whispered, to no effect whatsoever, and he frowned in indecision. "Simmons," he repeated, raising his voice. She winced, continuing to sleep, and he didn't have the heart to try again.

He yawned, smiling down at her as he noticed her fatigue seemed to be contagious, then he let his head drop back. He knew the credits at the end of the movie would awaken him—they always did. They'd both be better rested by then, and more able to get her safely back to the hotel for the rest of the night.

* * *

The noise almost woke Jemma up, pulling her from her dream into the fuzzy, murky place that exists halfway between sleep and consciousness. She flailed for the covers to pull them over her head, but her fingers slid over her jeans instead. A thought began to form, mild curiosity about why she'd gone to bed without changing her clothes.

She felt a little more awake, groaning as the light on her eyelids told her it was morning, and she decided the sound might be her alarm. As she dug her head more firmly into the pillow, trying to ignore it, she smiled and hummed with satisfaction as the noise stopped. It couldn't be the alarm, as it wouldn't have shut off on its own. She arched her back and yawned, then began to drift back into sleep.

She slid her arms under the pillow, noticing for the first time that she was propped up on something—perhaps a few more pillows? They were warm and oddly solid, nothing at all like she would have expected to find there.

Just as she started to ponder the mystery of her bed seeming so different, the noise started again, blocking her attempt to slip back to her lovely dream. She reached out blindly in an attempt to stop the sound by any means necessary, yelping as she smashed her hand into something sharp.

The pain radiated up her arm to her shoulder and she tried to push herself upright using her other, half-asleep arm. She connected with the thing underneath her, forcing her eyes open when she couldn't understand why it was so difficult to move around. As she adjusted to the light, blinking her dry eyes and willing them to focus, she finally woke enough to remember where she was.

She froze, holding her breath and moving only her eyes, trying not to disturb Fitz. He was—well, there was no other word for it, really—almost wrapped around her. She remembered how they'd been arranged when they'd restarted the movie, but they must have both fallen asleep and then shifted in an attempt to get more comfortable.

One of his legs was braced on the floor, near the table where she'd just painfully whacked her hand. The other, however, had somehow found its way behind her, against the back cushions of the couch. She was between them, basically lying on top of him, with only the throw pillow separating her from his chest. His hand was resting on her back and his neck was stretched back at an angle she found difficult to believe could be comfortable. He was lightly snoring, showing no signs of waking anytime soon, and she wondered if she'd be able to extricate herself without either of them having to acknowledge how they'd slept.

Slowly, she tried to shift her weight onto her knees, hoping she could kneel and then stand up without jostling him too much. His hand reflexively clutched at her as she moved away and she froze again, waiting to see what would happen. When he stilled, she grabbed onto the back of the couch, using it to lever herself up, and she was sure she'd be able to get away without him realizing exactly how they'd slept.

Just as she was about to put her first foot on the floor, her phone came to life again on the table, her ringtone improbably loud in the early morning silence. She lunged, hoping to get to it before it woke Fitz, but in her haste, she lost her balance. Without time to think, her other hand connected solidly with the middle of Fitz's chest to keep her from falling forward and crushing him.

"Wha...?" he muttered sleepily. He began to sit up, his momentum pushing Jemma off to the side, and she had to grab his shoulders to keep from falling onto the floor.

She winced when his eyes opened, the sudden, unexpected contact between them pulling him into what looked like complete alertness. Their eyes locked as they breathed together, Jemma scrambling to right herself so she could release him.

"Oh, Fitz. I'm so sorry," she said, the words coming automatically, and she wasn't even sure why she was apologizing. "I was trying not to wake you, but my phone started ringing."

"Where are—" he began, looking around, and she saw the moment it all became clear to him. He pulled back from her, his leg nearly knocking her off the couch again as he tried to untangle himself from her.

"We must have fallen asleep during the movie," she said, scrambling into a seated position next to him on the couch. Grabbing her phone, she saw five missed calls from Daisy, each of them only minutes apart. She must have just gotten up at the hotel and discovered that Jemma had never come back the night before.

"Simmons, I'm sor—this is my fault. I was still up when you drifted off, but I didn't wake you. I figured I'd let you get a quick nap, maybe you'd be more alert to drive after...ugh," he said, his head falling back to rest on the back of the couch. "That doesn't make much sense, does it? I'm sorry. It seemed logical at the time."

"It's all right." She tried not to think about how he'd reeled away from her as soon as he'd come back to himself, as though he'd been horrified at the way they'd woken up. 

She sighed, staring at the phone in her hands, and she knew she needed to call Daisy right away. Though she knew she'd never hear the end of it after she explained what happened, Jemma couldn't leave Daisy wondering where she was or if she was safe. 

"I'll just...I'll be right back," Fitz said, retreating from the room and disappearing down the hall, towards his bedroom.

Her head in her hands, Jemma waited for the call to connect. On the first ring, Daisy's panicked voice came through the speaker.

"Jemma? Where are you? Are you all right?"

"Yes, Daisy. I'm so sorry to have frightened you. I'm fine." She looked nervously toward the doorway, rushing to explain what happened before she had to do it in front of Fitz. "Before you ask, I'm still at Fitz's apartment. We decided to watch a movie last night and we must have been quite exhausted, because we both fell asleep."

"Oh my god," Daisy said, her excitement almost a tangible thing as it came over the line. "Oh my god. Oh my _god_ , Jemma. Did he finally make a move on you? Or did you make one on him? Maybe it was one of those things where you both go at the same time? Was it just amazing? It had to be amazing, right? All those months of build-up. It must have been like an explosion."

"Daisy, please." Jemma cradled her head more, curling into an almost-fetal position on Fitz's couch. "There were no moves of any kind. There were no explosions. There was a movie, and then unintentional sleeping. Actual sleeping, with REM cycles and unconsciousness."

"You have..." Daisy said, and Jemma could hear the frustration in her voice, "... _got_ to be kidding me."

"I'm not sure why you think I would lie to you," Jemma snapped, wincing when she realized she was taking her frustration out on her friend, who had done absolutely nothing to deserve it. "Oh, I'm sorry I'm so irritable, Daisy. I'll be back soon, all right?"

"Okay, but I think I'll be gone by the time you get here. I have to grab a quick shower before Bobbi gets here to pick me up. We have a whole day planned, a bunch of stuff she says Hunter will never get up early enough to do with her. I went looking for you to see if you wanted to come along and that's when I found your bed empty." She sounded uncertain now, as though she was second-guessing herself. "Hey, do you want us to wait for you to get back? Bobbi specifically said to invite you, too."

"I'm not sure I could make it. Fitz and I—" She stopped, not sure he would want to spend the day with her after he'd been so unhappy to awaken curled up with her on the couch. Jemma shut her eyes, knowing what she had to say, but she hated that a lie seemed like the best way to simplify the conversation. "I'm only coming back for a quick shower and a change of clothes. Fitz and I may need this time to make a few more changes before the last test tonight."

"Hey, Jemma? Do you need to talk, or something? I know I've been pushing you and prodding you about Fitz, but I can lay off if you need a sounding board. You sound really...sad. The game can wait, and I can call Bobbi and cancel if you'd rather talk, just the two of us."

Jemma smiled, feeling a wave of gratitude running through her for Daisy's mere existence. "You...are the best friend I could ever ask for, did you know that?"

"That's it. You sound really weird." Jemma could hear scuffling in the background, sounds of Daisy moving around. "I'm coming over there to get you."

"You really shouldn't, Daisy. I'm fine. I'm..." Jemma let the words hang for a moment, the entire thing still existing in uncertainty until she said the first word out loud that would acknowledge it. "...disappointed."

"Oh, Jemma...I don't know what happened, but maybe you shouldn't be there today. I can't believe Fitz. Really, I'm so angry."

"Daisy," Jemma said, laughing a little, "I appreciate your concern, but you shouldn't take my unwarranted disappointment out on poor Fitz. He hasn't done anything to deserve it."

"But Jemma—"

"I'm sorry, Daisy," Jemma said, quickly cutting her off when Fitz re-entered the room, "I should probably hang up now so I can get the day started. We can talk more later about that thing you wanted to ask me about."

"Oh, I get it. Fitz is there now," Daisy said, and Jemma cupped her hand around her phone, hoping he couldn't hear Daisy's side of the conversation. "If you change your mind, call me. Bobbi and I can come get you and whisk you off to...wherever Bobbi is planning to take me."

"I appreciate that. Have a good time, Daisy, and I'll see you this evening." Jemma said, then disconnected the call after Daisy said goodbye.

"I imagine she was a bit worried when you weren't there this morning?" Fitz asked, his back still turned to her as he filled the kettle and dropped it on the burner to heat up.

"She was. I feel terrible about scaring her, but everything's fine now."

They were faced with yet another silence, punctuated only with the bubbling sound of the water starting to boil, as Jemma toed into her shoes and swept her hand over her hair, trying to make herself feel normal again.

"I'm really sorry again, Simmons. I should never have let you go to sleep, or I should have made sure I didn't, or..." he shrugged, staring at her for a moment before he got two mugs out of an overhead cabinet.

"It's no one's fault, Fitz, really." She couldn't take this, their mutual tendency to assign themselves blame and the uncomfortable apologies they tripped over for far too long before the issue faded. "Nothing terrible happened, after all, unless you think your neck might not recover after you slept all night at that terrible angle," she said, taking a chance on injecting a bit of humor to lighten the mood.

"I might never be the same." His words came slowly at first, then faster as he appeared to warm into them. He pretended to wince as he rubbed his hand over the back of his neck, but his smile gave him away. "I should be able to limp my way through the museum despite this appalling injury of mine, if you're still interested."

He turned to pour the tea as soon as he'd made the offer, hiding his expression from her. She had no way of knowing if he'd be relieved or disappointed if she changed her mind.

"I'd absolutely still like to go." She held her breath and accepted the mug he held it out to her, and their eyes met and his fingers brushed hers before he pulled away. Everything seemed frozen, other than the tiny movements of his eyes as they roamed over her face. 

Fitz broke away first, clearing his throat and looking down at the floor. That's when it all came back to her. They were partners, and even that arrangement was merely temporary. Perhaps they'd even become friends, but he clearly wanted nothing more than that. His discomfort with these little moments when she stared at him a bit too long was becoming rather obvious.

"I'll need a bit of time at the hotel to put myself together," she said, gesturing down at her rumpled clothes. 

He nodded, blinking quickly as he followed the sweep of her hand, then he looked back at her blankly, as though he'd been about to say something but the thought had abandoned him entirely.

"Fitz? Will that be all right? Should I go and meet you at the museum when I'm done?"

It took him a moment, but he swallowed and shook his head a little, clearing his throat again before he started to answer her.

"Sorry, I was just thinking through what makes the most sense, logistically. You're parked out front?" She nodded, and he frowned a little. "The street spaces are scarce on Friday nights. It would be better to leave your car where it is, as you might be leaving late tonight after the testing. I can drive you to the hotel now and wait for you in the lobby, and we can go straight to the museum from there. We'd probably get there earlier this way, as well."

"Okay. Are you..." she looked at him, noticing for the first time that his hair was a bit wet, and he'd changed his clothes. "You're ready to go? You were hardly away for five minutes while I was speaking to Daisy."

"There wasn't much hot water at my house when I was growing up. I learned to keep my showers quite quick." He looked around, spying her bag by the table, and he picked it up by the strap and handed it to her. "What else do you need?"

"Nothing else, I'm ready." She followed him out, telling herself there was no reason to be nervous about the day ahead. A few hours sleeping near each other on his couch wouldn't change anything between them, no matter how much she wished it would.


	16. Chapter 16

Fitz collapsed into a too-cushy armchair in the hotel lobby after Jemma disappeared into the elevator. His head fell back and he groaned, palms pressing into his forehead as he tried to wipe the memories of being so close to her during the movie from his mind. He'd kept the pillow between them to create a little distance when she'd curled up next to him on the couch, but his heart had still raced every time he'd stolen a look at her. That had been nothing, though, compared to waking up in sleepy confusion to her, just inches away.

He felt awful, wondering if she thought he'd done it all on purpose. She'd seemed sincere when she said neither of them were at fault, but he couldn't help feeling guilty. His only real regret from the previous night was that they hadn't been in each other's arms by choice, and failing to admit that to her felt like lying.

Fitz knew the rest of the day would feel endless, indeed, if he didn't find a way to put it behind him. He shoved the images of them waking up on the couch together out of his mind, thinking instead about what they might do until the test session began at six o'clock. They could spend most of the day at the museum, but he wanted to find something else, as well. Something she wouldn't expect, something surprising.

He got up, looking for the rack of brochures that every hotel seemed to have somewhere in their lobby. Finding it by the bank of elevators, he looked over the various flyers, hoping one of them would give him an idea. 

One of them caught his eye, and after he pulled it out and looked it over, everything seemed to fall into place. The image on the front looked perfect, and it was close enough to the museum that it probably wouldn't feel like a huge addition to their plans. He might be able to play it off quite casually, to avoid giving her the impression he'd planned the day out like a date.

With their plans decided on, he took a moment with his phone to book the tickets ahead for both activities, finishing just in time for Jemma to reappear in the lobby.

She was tucking something into her bag as she stepped out of the elevator, a soft smile curling at the edges of her mouth as she walked toward him. The flowing skirt of her sundress twirled around her legs as she moved, and the contrast of her dark brown hair against her pale, bare shoulders made his throat tighten at how unbelievably lovely she was.

"I felt terrible you were stuck waiting for me here, Fitz. I hope you weren't too bored."

"Not at all. I spent the time planning out the rest of the day."

Her forehead wrinkled in concern. "The testing tonight?"

"No," he laughed, wondering how she could fail to notice how much he was looking forward to their day together. "Just...today."

"Really?" She looked curious, and he wondered if she was worried he was reading too much into the two of them spending a few hours alone.

"I can't let you leave Boston without seeing some of the sights," he hedged.

"Yes," she said, looking down and adjusting the strap of her bag where it hung across her body. "Of course." 

She looked troubled, making him even more sure she was uncomfortable, and perhaps concerned he was a bit too excited to show off the city to her. He reminded himself again that their friendship appeared to be enough for her, and he should be careful not to let any trace of his more complicated feelings show through.

He led her outside, looking away when the sunlight on her hair made it seem to glow, waves of molten bronze cascading over her shoulders. "The science museum is great," he said, trying to put himself back on track. "There's a nanotechnology exhibit aimed at children at the museum. I often think of sending some of my students there when they get lost in trying to innovate and forget the fundamentals."

"We'll need to see that, Fitz. I know precious little about engineering and electronics. I find myself falling behind when conversation between you and Daisy goes outside the realm of an absolute novice."

"I'm sure that's not true. Someone who could earn—" he began, realizing a moment too late that he was about to reference her two advanced degrees he wasn't supposed to know about, "—so much respect for those brilliant and complicated strategy game designs couldn't possibly be flummoxed by a little talk about programming or device design."

She gave him a strange look as he unlocked the car and they got in, and he yet again had the unsettling feeling that she could somehow read his mind. He tried to ignore it, flipping on the radio as he pulled out of the parking lot, and pasting a smile on his face to cover.

* * *

They arrived at the museum just after it opened. Jemma _just_ managed not to squeal out loud when they rounded the corner from the parking garage and she saw the front of the building. It was silly to be this excited after the many beautiful labs she'd worked in and amazing things she'd seen, but some part of her was still that eight year old girl, watching a documentary and suddenly knowing what she wanted to study when she went to college.

"Simmons?" Fitz asked, his head tilted to the side as he looked back at her from a few steps ahead of where she'd stopped.

"Sorry," she said, fumbling for a way to explain why she'd suddenly frozen in place. "I know sightseeing with tourists can be annoying for locals, but I'm afraid I plan to take a lot of photos today." Pulling her phone out of her pocket, she switched to the camera app and snapped a quick shot of the front entrance as Fitz circled back to stand behind her.

"One of us?" he asked, and she wondered what he meant until his hands fell lightly on her shoulders and he turned her around, until her back was to the building.

She held out her phone, stretching her arm as far as it would go, and he leaned in, their cheeks almost touching to get both of them in the frame. Her thumb shook a little as she tapped the shutter a few times, and she hoped he wouldn't notice.

"I promise not to be one of those tiresome locals who gives tourists grief about wanting photos. Take as many as you like." 

"That should be enough of the exterior. Let's go, so I'll have ample time to take a truly exasperating number of pictures of the exhibits."

He laughed a little and held out his hand, which she stared at, not understanding at first. When her eyes flicked up to his, she saw his hopeful, happy expression beginning to cloud with doubt, and that finally got her to move. Just as he started to drop his arm back to his side, she closed the distance between them and clasped his hand in hers, then walked with him toward the entrance.

* * *

Somewhere between the exhibit on light and energy and their long stroll in the humidity of the butterfly garden, Fitz's ability to focus on the displays and informational plaques began to falter and he found himself watching his companion instead. Thankfully, Jemma was so entranced by everything, even the installations that were aimed at an audience twenty years their junior, that he was reasonably sure she hadn't caught him...yet. He knew she'd notice eventually, so each time he found himself staring at the look of wonder on her face or watching her laugh as they observed the younger museum guests trying out the interactive exhibits, he forced himself to look away.

"Fitz!" she called out, waving him over to the museum directory. "There's something we need to see." She grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the escalators before he could look at the map himself, so he just followed along, enjoying the sparkle in her eyes when she settled on the stair directly below his and turned back to look up at him.

"Where are we—"

"I can't believe you haven't taken us there already, which can only mean that you've been saving it, or..." she looked at him hopefully, with barely restrained excitement, "...as I'm hoping, you aren't aware it's here."

"Aren't aware what's—Simmons!" he yelped, when they reached the bottom of the escalator and she pulled him by the elbow toward a section of the lower level with dark blue walls.

"Sorry," she said, easing her grip just a bit, but he was relieved when she didn't let him go entirely. "We're nearly there."

She pulled him past a sign that said, "Live Animal Care Center", clearly on a mission as she rushed them past enclosures housing turtles, raccoons, and owls without pausing to read a single placard or take any photos.

"Simmons, we're missing the—" he began, the sentence dying as she pulled him around a corner and into another room. Her gasp of delight told him this was what she'd been looking for, what she'd seen on the map and knew they had to visit.

"Look at them, Fitz. Aren't they wonderful?"

If he'd been here with anyone else, he would have assumed they were teasing him, as his soft spot for primates of all kinds wasn't limited to his work on his last board game. Jemma, however, seemed just as enraptured as he felt, watching them and laughing as one of the more acrobatic among the monkeys leapt from branch to branch.

"Cotton-top tamarins," he whispered, dropping down on the bench in front of the glass to watch them as they moved frenetically, hopping over each other and all but flying from place to place. "There's seven of them," he said, his eyes darting around as he verified his count. "That's about the same size their group would be—"

"—in the wild," she finished, and he saw her wince when he turned to look at her. 

"Are you all right?" he asked, suddenly concerned that he'd spent the entire day misreading her somehow, and she wasn't enjoying all of this as much as he was.

"I suppose I just got excited that we were thinking the same thing and I couldn't help interrupting you. I've made quite a habit of it."

"It doesn't bother me at all, Simmons. Most people stuck in a conversation with me about primates would have either taped my mouth shut or fallen asleep by now." He couldn't stop his smile from growing wider, gratified that she was interested enough in their conversation to interrupt him.

"That pair of infants must be very young," she observed, sitting down and leaning toward him as she pointed to two babies being carried on one of the adult's backs. When she looked at him, there was an unmistakable glint of challenge in her eyes. "Could you make an educated guess at their age?"

He smirked at her, shrugging his shoulders. "They're quite small. Can't be more than...three months old?"

"They're much younger than that. By ten weeks, tamarins are almost never carried by one of the adults of the group any longer." She'd looked away from him to watch the monkeys, putting her hand delicately in front of her mouth as she giggled at the antics of two of them as they traded their resting spots on two of the branches, leaping past each other again and again.

"Did you know that tamarins always give birth to—" 

"—twins," she finished, wincing the moment she realized she'd interrupted him again. "I'm terribly sorry, Fitz. I couldn't help myself."

"How do you happen to know this much about them?" He tried to keep his voice even and phrase it as an innocent question, though, thanks to Daisy, he suspected he already knew the answer. For weeks, he'd been trying to present her with an opportunity to tell him about her degrees, and perhaps even talk about why she'd left her work in biotech. It bothered him a bit that she hadn't mentioned it before, worried it was a measure of their friendship not being as close as he'd like it to be.

"I have—" she began, and he held his breath when she paused, appearing to rethink what she was going to say. "I majored in biology."

Because of what Daisy had told him, the very least he could get away with when he responded was a lie by omission, but he wanted to be careful to avoid going any further than that. "How is it that we've spent this much time together, you know exactly what I majored in and what I'm doing now other than game design, and I know so precious little about you?"

She looked down, the toes of her shoes digging into the floor under the bench. "You know everything you need to know about me, Fitz."

"Perhaps that's true, but I don't know everything I _want_ to know about you." She looked back at him, her eyes so expressive as she studied his face, as though she was trying to decide how much she should share, how much she could trust him with. "No pressure," he added, taking the chance of covering her hand with his where it rested on the bench between them. "If you don't want to—"

"I do," she insisted, but her face looked troubled. "I'm not sure why I've avoided it, except I didn't know what sort of impression of me you'd take from the story."

"There's nothing I can imagine you telling me that would change what I think about you. Not for the worse, at least."

"Oh, really? If I told you I'd been an axe murderer in my youth, you'd—"

He rolled his eyes, laughing a little. "I knew you'd try to catch me out, Simmons. Please recall that I said, 'nothing I can _imagine_ you telling me.' I can't see you as an axe murderer, so your logic doesn't hold."

"I can't argue with that, though I appreciate the stalling you've just done to give me time to collect my courage." Her free hand, the one he wasn't holding, curled into a fist in her lap, her fingers clenched and her knuckles white.

"This isn't...Simmons, if you aren't comfortable talking about this..." he trailed off, frowning a little as he watched her wage some sort of internal war with herself. "Really, you shouldn't. Let's just watch the tamarins."

"No." She turned sideways on the bench, facing him, and took a deep breath before she started. "I didn't just major in biology, Fitz, I have a doctorate." She paused, closing her eyes for a moment before admitting, "And another in chemistry. I don't talk about them, because I worked for a pharmaceutical research firm after I left school and I found the experience rather...disillusioning."

"Is that when you decided to start designing games?"

"I fell into that almost by mistake, actually. I had a colleague who fancied himself a game designer in his spare time. As I did a lot of the data modeling work in the lab, he asked me to help him solve some balance and scaling issues his game had. It was...well, it was a mess, frankly, but I did what I could. He re-submitted it to QRG, and when Coulson recognized the improvement in the design, he became curious about who had done the work to fix it. Coulson got in contact with me, invited me to send him my own proposal, and...well, that pitch became my first title."

"Thank goodness your colleague asked you for help."

"I'm not sure what I'd be doing today if not for that," she agreed, and he was tempted to allow her to misunderstand him, to take a step back from the chance he'd just taken, but he couldn't let the moment pass without being honest with her.

"Happy as I am that you have a rewarding and successful career, I'm reasonably certain we would never have met if not for your colleague being a terrible designer. I should probably send him a fruit basket or something, for being awful enough to need your help."

"Fitz," she whispered, looking down at their paired hands and covered them with her free one. "I'm quite grateful to him as well, then."

* * *

Her heart was racing as she focused on his hand, sandwiched between hers. She knew he would let the subject die if she changed it, but she wanted to continue, to finally tell him the truth. She'd felt guilty and conflicted about her past for what seemed like forever, and strangely, she knew talking it through with Fitz would help her understand it.

"Before we call Dr. Monroe and thank him for having such poor modeling skills," she began, trying to buoy her mood with a little humor, "I think I should probably tell you what happened at that company, and why I left that job."

He nodded at her, his fingers caressing her palm as she held his hand, wordlessly encouraging her to go on.

"I went straight from finishing my second doctorate to a pharmaceutical research lab. They filled my head with talk of changing the world, developing medicines and vaccines that would help people. I wanted to save lives, Fitz. Protect people."

He nodded again as she took another breath and swallowed, the familiar, consuming regret at the mistakes she'd made washing over her.

"I worked for two years on a team, searching for an effective protocol to treat a series of rare metabolic disorders. We found a commonality among several of them, leading to a drug protocol that reversed some of the adverse effects. After the initial breakthrough, I was able to alter the formula into a cure for five of the syndromes. Patients had to remain on the drug to regulate their condition, but they would otherwise be fine."

"Simmons...that's... _you're_ amazing," he said, his eyes wide with awe, but his reaction only made her feel worse. After what happened once the drug was on the market, she knew she didn't deserve it.

"I was merely doing my job, Fitz. I was thrilled, of course, because this was what I'd wanted to do from the moment I entered my degree program. There were thousands of people whose lives could be better because of what we were able to do, and for months I didn't think any further than that." She paused, remembering the awards and the recognition, all those memories tainted by what was to come. "I received a large bonus due to my role in the formulation of the drug, and something about it bothered me. I didn't understand how could they afford to give me such an astoundingly large amount of money simply for performing the tasks assigned to me."

"No, Simmons," he said, and she could see by the look on his face that he'd figured it out. It confirmed for her what she'd always known, that if she hadn't been so naive, she wouldn't have been fooled for as long as she was.

"They pushed the drug through FDA trials and got it to market, making sure every doctor prominent in the treatment of these disorders was aware of what we'd created and what it could do for their patients. As soon as there was interest, the price of the drug skyrocketed. Insurance companies washed their hands of it, or reimbursed for a laughably tiny fraction of its price. Most people who could benefit from it couldn't afford it. Of the rest, many of their families went bankrupt trying to keep up with the protocol."

"None of this is your fault, Simmons. You can't blame yourself for what they did. All you did was—"

"Make a miracle drug that only hurt people more," she finished, savagely cutting him off. "I do blame myself. I had offers to work for almost any research lab in a handful of different countries, and I'm sure there were many offers from companies whose behavior would have been much more ethical. The mistake was mine. For the first time in my life, I didn't study all the alternatives. I did what everyone was urging me to do, and I accepted the most lucrative proposal."

He pulled his hand away and she gasped, wondering if he'd been so appalled by her story that he couldn't bear to be in contact with her. When he swept his thumb over her cheek, wiping away tears she hadn't realized were there, she leaned gratefully into him.

"I'll say it until you believe me, Jemma," he said, and she cried harder when she heard him switch to her first name. "None of what happened was your fault. How long have you been torturing yourself with this?"

Their eyes met and his hand slid into her hair, cradling her head as they stared at each other. Time seemed to stop until he pulled her toward him. For a crazy moment she thought he was going to kiss her again, and she closed her eyes in anticipation. 

When his arms circled her and he pulled her into his chest, there was a moment of disappointment, but she soon sank gratefully into the acceptance that radiated from him. His hands stroked her hair as he whispered into her ear, his words simple and repetitive. There was an almost unbearable sweetness in his tone carrying her away and she never wanted the moment to end.

Much too soon, he let her go, breathing one last, "Don't cry, Jemma," into her ear before they were separated again.

She dabbed at the corners of her eyes, sitting up straight and looking away. "I'm so sorry. That must have made you quite uncomfortable."

"That's not why I didn't want you to cry," he protested softly, pulling one of her hands from her face to hold it in both of his. "I just don't think it should be your burden to bear, and you've been carrying it far too long."

"I'm not sure I can agree," she whispered, and he squeezed her hand harder, a pained look on his face. She cleared her throat, wanting to push through to the end of the whole sordid story. "Regardless, I obviously couldn't remain there. I'd used most of the bonus paying off the townhouse, but I couldn't keep the rest. It felt like—it _was_ —blood money," she said, continuing quickly when she saw he was about to interrupt her. "I found a charity that provides assistance to people struggling with their medical bills and I donated everything I had left. After that...I was lost. There seemed to be no way to work out for certain which labs would behave more ethically in the face of a similar opportunity. In a moment of indecision, I threw myself into designing a second board game instead. Years later, here I am...still wishing there was something I could do to make it right."

"Simmons," he said, and she felt a little pang of loss when he reverted back to her last name. "I'm not sure what to say. I'm so sorry for what's happened to you."

A small group rounded the corner and she realized they'd been alone all this time, the crowd somehow staying away long enough for her to confess her past to Fitz. Two school-aged children rushed past them, pressing their noses to the glass to watch the monkeys, and she was suddenly aware of how intimate this must look, the two of them sitting so close to each other on the long, otherwise-empty bench, their joined hands between them.

She pulled back and shifted away until there was a bit more room between them, glancing meaningfully at the boy and girl standing just in front of them when Fitz's face clouded at her withdrawal. He seemed shocked to find they were no longer alone, as though he'd been so intent on their conversation that he simply hadn't noticed.

"My family thinks I'm crazy. It's not ten minutes into any phone call or visit before they're reminding me I could be saving lives, what a disappointment my gaming career is after I worked so hard to secure my degrees. They're probably right, of course. I'm being selfish—"

"That's ridiculous," he said, shaking his head a little when he saw her startled expression. "Sorry. Perhaps it's not ridiculous, but it _is_ your choice what you do with your life. Go back to the lab if you want to, Simmons, but not because you think it's your duty to humanity or some rubbish like that. You had a horrible experience. You'll figure out where you're meant to do when you're ready, don't you think?"

"You're quite wonderful, have I told you that?" she asked, enjoying the blush that colored his cheeks as he suddenly looked back at the monkeys, a small smile on his face.

She leaned toward him, bumping her shoulder into his, and felt him do the same in return.


	17. Chapter 17

After a few more exhibits, Fitz looked at his watch and frowned, realizing it was nearly two o'clock and they hadn't had lunch yet. After inadvertently skipping breakfast, it seemed like a bad idea to press forward without grabbing something now, especially as he was still hoping to suggest another stop before they had to get back for their final test session.

He caught her eye just as she finished taking a photo of the optical illusion they'd been discussing, and suggested, "Lunch?"

"Yes," she said, though her brow was furrowed. "I'm absolutely famished, but I've been trying not to think about it. I didn't want to leave yet." She laughed at herself, then took one more photo before she pocketed her phone.

"We could go out and come back," he suggested, as they began to walk toward the exit, "or there's another thing I had in mind for the afternoon, if you'd like a change of pace. I'd be happy to come back to the museum with you another day, if you think we might be able to play hooky again before you have to go."

They were soon back in the lobby and she paused, a wistful smile on her face. She swiveled in place, looking around the massive room. He loved how reluctant she was to leave the museum, one of his favorite places in Boston. When she turned back to him, sunlight streamed through the three-story window wall in front of them, casting a golden glow over her face.

"This has been wonderful, Fitz, and I'm sure we could stay here for days and not see it all. Unfortunately, we've got limited time to work with, and I think I'd like to see a little more of the city."

"There's a restaurant I know nearby, if you wouldn't mind a short walk. The university sent me to a lunch meeting with one of their corporate partners last year, and while the meeting itself went nowhere, I did discover an excellent bistro."

"Lead the way," she said, gesturing toward the exit.

He reached over and took her hand before he knew what he was doing. They both looked down for a moment and Fitz's gait stuttered a bit, but it felt too right to pull away. He squeezed her hand and she squeezed back as they walked next to each other, as though it had always been this way.

* * *

The restaurant was, thankfully, just as amazing as he'd remembered it. Conversation had been easy as they'd studied the menu and ordered, rehashing what they'd seen at the museum and gushing over the food once it arrived. 

Jemma raised her goblet and he did the same, both of them silent as their gazes locked over the edge of their glasses. He had to clear his throat as he returned to his meal, his mind racing with the certainty that he was now utterly besotted by Jemma Simmons. He wasn't sure what he'd been thinking, asking to spend the day with her when he'd been trying to put the idea of anything more than friendship with her out of his mind.

"Given my recent track record, I should be sure to stop at one glass," she joked, indicating the wine before she returned the glass to the table. "I don't want to fall asleep in the middle of our last test."

"Agreed," he said, grateful to have something else to think about. "They make what almost passes for real tea here. We should switch to that when we're done with these."

Jemma took a bite and chewed thoughtfully, skewering another piece of roasted baby carrot before she looked back at Fitz. "The big mystery should be solved by this time tomorrow," she said, and he was lost for a moment until he remembered the vidcon they were scheduled to have with Coulson.

"Yes. The theming for the game. Do you have any guesses?"

She shrugged. "I've been trying not to think about it. I suppose I didn't want to get locked into an idea and have it negatively affect the design if I'm wrong."

"If I had a theory, would you like me to share it, or keep it to myself? The design is basically set now, so you'd hardly be in any danger to be influenced by it."

Her eyes lit up and she stopped chewing for a moment, then swallowed quickly. "Oh, how could you ask me that just as I took a bite? Of _course_ I'd like to hear your theory."

Fitz did a quick internet search on his phone, bringing up an image of a movie poster before he turned it for Jemma to see. "There's a certain best-selling book series being turned into a movie right now. Our estimated release date falls just after the premiere date for the film." He watched her mouth fall open and he could see the wheels turning in her mind as she considered the possibility. "I could be wrong. It could be a complete coincidence."

"This would be..." she said, breaking off as her expression went a bit dreamy, "...incredible. I can't imagine this film not doing well." She shook her head, changing her mind. "Honestly, it'll most likely break a few records when it opens."

"It would explain the secrecy. There's supposed to be major additions in the movie that weren't in the book, and people have been trying to get their hands on spoilers from the moment they announced the adaptation. The basic plotline fits the parameters we were given by Coulson when we started to work on the design, as well. Other than that, the secrecy, and the timing, though, I have no reason to think I'm right. Let's not get carried away."

"Ugh, as exciting as this possibility is, it does have a downside. There's quite a stigma against movie tie-in games. Video games and tabletop, both. You've played some terrible ones yourself, haven't you?"

Fitz frowned, thinking back to a few truly awful experiences with thin and uninteresting gameplay, each game having nothing to offer other than the glossy images of a popular franchise property on the box.

"We know that won't be true of ours," he insisted. "We designed it to be good on its own. The stigma could even work in our favor. Ours will be the tie-in game that's actually good. The rarest of mythological creatures."

Jemma giggled, taking another careful sip of her wine. "Perhaps you're right, but it's all just speculation until tomorrow. Then we'll know."

They both picked at their food, their entrees disappearing rapidly in the face of few interruptions. Fitz noticed Jemma's expression turning more worried than thoughtful, her fingers gripping her fork harder than was strictly necessary.

"All right, Simmons?"

"What? Oh, sorry. I was somewhere else for a moment, wasn't I?" She went silent, finishing the last bites on her plate while Fitz debated asking her what she'd been thinking about. "The food's lovely, isn't it?"

"The...Yes, it is." He looked down at his empty plate, wondering if he should ask again if she was all right, but she'd already avoided the question once. "Would you like to share a dessert?" he asked, instead. "I remember the pastries here were quite good."

"Dessert?" she repeated, a beat of silence passing as she blinked rapidly at him, as though she had to bring herself back from somewhere very far away before she could process the question. 

They began speaking simultaneously, both of them saying the other's name, and then they wasted a bit more time with each of them insisting the other should speak first.

"Simmons, I was just going to ask again if something was bothering you. If I've done something or said something—"

"No. It's not you, Fitz. I'm sorry. I'm being silly."

"About?"

"We're nearly done," she said, the words falling out of her in a rush. "It's been such hard work and so difficult sometimes that it was a bit scary, really, wondering if we'd be able to pull it off. Given all of that, it's been quite easy to forget what finishing means."

"The game," he said, feeling thick for having to confirm what she meant. "What finishing the game means."

"Yes." She was looking down at her plate, her hand coming up to self-consciously tuck her hair behind her ear.

"What does it mean?"

"I think it's already happened, actually," she said, her voice small and hesitant. "After tonight, the system should be locked. We'll probably do the beginning work of theming together, but soon, you'll need to spend most of your time on the electronics design for our randomizing section of the game board, and perhaps assist Daisy with the companion app. She'll need specs and help with the mobile gameplay workflow, and your background is much more suited to that than mine is. My time will be best used working with Mack, integrating theming to the structure of the game and consulting on the design of the board and the rules booklet."

"You think we're done working together."

"Essentially. Aren't we?" she asked, and his heart stopped when he saw she looked as miserable about the idea as he felt.

"We don't have to be."

"Fitz?" Her eyes were darting around, searching his face, her own expression unreadable. "Have you ever thought that we—"

"Of course I think we should continue to collaborate," he broke in, panicked at the idea that he'd soon be out of pretenses to keep Jemma in his life. "I can hardly argue with the results. I don't want to be immodest, Simmons, but we both know this is a fantastic game. If it does as well in the stores as Coulson seems to believe it will, I can't imagine we'd have trouble selling another joint project to him."

Her face fell a bit as she nodded a few times, looking out the window as she whispered, "Absolutely."

He leaned down, trying to catch her eye as he wondered if perhaps she thought he hadn't meant it, that he wanted their partnership to end with this game. "We were talking about game ideas earlier while we were looking at the optical illusions, remember? That might be a good place to start."

She turned back to him and nodded again, the uncertain look on her face still unchanging and the obviously forced smile not reaching her eyes. "Ah, but you were saying something about dessert, weren't you? Why don't we see about getting something ordered?"

Certain he was missing something but not knowing what to do about it, he caught the attention of their waiter, who returned with the dessert menu. Once they were done debating the relative merits of cheesecake and tiramisu she seemed more like herself and his opportunity to ask her why she'd seemed so upset had passed him by.

* * *

Jemma won the battle over the check once it arrived, but only after pointing out that she could submit it as an expense. She'd been determined to pay it, wanting to put him at ease by making clear she'd never considered their day out to be a date of any kind. He'd taken every opportunity to steer their lunch conversation gently back to professional topics each time it threatened to stray to something more personal, which she could only interpret as his method of reminding her yet again that had no interest in her beyond friendship.

When they were outside again, Fitz checked the time and pointed out to her that they didn't have to be back for hours yet, though the way he said it seemed oddly rehearsed. She couldn't imagine why he appeared to be giving so much thought to what he was saying, but she'd played through her half of the conversation, waiting to see what he was leading up to.

"There's one more thing, Simmons, if you'd like to see a bit of the Charles River and the Cambridge skyline. I'd much rather have shown it to you at sunset, but we'd miss the beginning of our own beta testing session if we waited for it."

"You'd like to walk?" she asked, starting toward the path along the river.

He caught her arm, turning her back. "Well, it's a bit of a walk first, but this way instead, and then it'll be something else." He grinned at her, and the look in his eyes told her he was being mysterious on purpose. 

She was feeling a bit somber after reflecting on how little time they had left in their project together, but she did her best to give him a smile, allowing him to lead her in the opposite direction. When he reached down and took her hand again, she flinched a little and he froze, stammering through an apology before she could stop him. 

"It's all right." She began to walk again, pulling him with her. "It's just that I was looking away and you took me a bit by surprise," she said, wincing at how automatically the lie to cover her feelings had come. 

He nodded, but she felt his grip loosen, their hands hanging limply together.

"Fitz," she said, not sure before she started what she was going to say, but she couldn't let this silence hang between them unaddressed. "I'm sorry. I know I'm being a bit grim. I've never done well with endings, you see, and it's all starting to feel so...final."

"Do you know what I kept thinking about, that week after I left D.C., before you came here?" he asked, and all she could do was shake her head. "I missed seeing you every day. I wasn't being flippant when we were on the phone discussing you coming to Boston early, Simmons. I've honestly grown quite used to...well..." he paused, looking over the river before he continued, "...you."

She grasped his hand more tightly, feeling silly for putting this distance between them simply because things weren't going to work out the way she'd come to hope they would. He pulled her toward him a little in response and they brushed against each other as they walked. She wished it meant something, this physical closeness that felt so natural to her, but he'd been more than clear what he wanted whenever she'd tried to find a way to tell him how she felt. He seemed to honestly value their partnership and her friendship—nothing further—and she had to find a way to accept what he was willing to offer.

"I can't imagine it would be easy to make our arrangement permanent, given the 400 mile commute for one of us." It was an attempt at a joke, though it didn't do much to lighten her mood.

"It felt further than that," he said, his voice quiet, as though he was talking more to himself than to her.

"You've become quite important to me as well, Fitz," she said, swinging their hands a little with nervous energy. "I'm happy to have signed that contract."

"I was always going to sign it," he admitted. "I'm not sure how I made it to the next morning before I did. Couldn't be more relieved that you did, as well." Fitz stopped walking, looking over at a small kiosk sitting at the edge of the water. "Wait here, Simmons. I'll be right back."

With one brush of his fingers against hers, he crossed the walkway to speak to the man inside the booth. She read the sign overhead for the first time and looked down the path a bit, realizing where they were. At the end of the nearby dock, a long, white boat was waiting.

* * *

They found a space by the railing after boarding the tour boat, a slight breeze blowing Jemma's hair back from her face as she leaned out to look at the water. Fitz watched her, remembering what she'd said about their partnership ending, his throat constricting as he considered the inevitability of it. Not for the first time, he took the problem apart in his mind, separating the pieces to examine them.

Infuriatingly, the geography wasn't much of an obstacle to designing a game together. While it was certainly easier for them to work in the same room, each of them bouncing ideas off the other while they scrawled notes on those blasted whiteboards of hers and argued, it wasn't strictly necessary. Between video conferencing and file sharing, they could design ten more board games without ever setting foot in the same room. 

It was childish, he knew, but that's not what he wanted. What he wanted was to rewind the clock, go back to the first day he walked into her townhouse and experience the whole thing over again. He wanted to see her brow furrow when he upset her careful piles of notes, to see her smiling at him when they realized simultaneously over index cards or the output from a simulation that they'd made a breakthrough. He didn't want to know her from afar, looking forward to the handful of weekends he might see her at a convention.

It would be beyond bizarre to suggest the idea of one of them moving, though he'd almost blurted out the idea a hundred times before he'd stopped himself. She had the townhouse and Daisy and the rest of her life in D.C., and he'd spent the last seven years building his teaching career in Cambridge. Even trying to frame it as the two of them starting their own design firm wasn't enough to make it sound less ridiculous.

"Fitz?" she asked, and he had to wrest himself out of his internal world and back to the present before his eyes properly focused on her. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, sorry. Just trying to remember what all these buildings are so I can give you a proper tour," he said, knowing it wasn't much of a cover for his extended silence.

"They're playing a narration through those." She pointed at the speaker over their heads, and he noticed for the first time that there was some sort of recording playing, the disembodied voice pointing out each landmark along the way.

"I suppose I was a bit lost in my thoughts," he admitted. "Between the last tasks we need to complete for the game and my lecturing schedule, the next few weeks are going to run me over in a blur."

She nodded, wrapping her arms around herself and taking one step back from the railing. "Do you think we'll still be able to see if we sat on this bench?" 

Fitz immediately moved back and sat down, motioning for her to follow. The boat didn't feel entirely stable as it rocked against the choppy surface of the water, and he wondered if the turbulence had bothered her.

"The view shouldn't be too different from here. Too bad it's so windy this afternoon, kicking up the water and rocking the boat like this."

"Oh no, that was fine." She pulled her arms around her torso again, hugging herself as she bounced a little in place. "I'm embarrassed to tell you that even on a warm, sunny day like today, my metabolism can't seem to keep up with the breeze coming off the water. I'd love to be back at the railing, but I didn't think to bring a sweater." She looked out, her eyes lighting on a crew team, rowing in perfect sync with each other next to the tour boat. "Oh, you're missing so much because of me. If you'd like to stand up again, I won't mind, Fitz. Perhaps you can tell me when there's something I should brave the wind to see."

"I'm an idiot," he said, looking down helplessly at the single layer of clothes he had on. If he'd brought a cardigan, he could have draped it over her shoulders, though he supposed that would have given him yet another torturous mental image of her to think back on once they were stuck in different cities again. "I've been out here before. I should have remembered how chilly it can get, even at the end of summer."

"Don't be silly. You aren't in charge of my body temperature," she said, rubbing her hands up and down on her arms to warm herself. 

"Jemm—er, Simmons, would you mind if I...?" he began, holding up his arm well behind her shoulders and trying to mime putting it around her because he knew he wouldn't be able to suggest the idea out loud. "It's just...I can't watch you being this uncomfortable if I can help, and it's my fault we're here in the first place."

Her arms loosened around her ribcage as she turned to him, her eyes wide. He held his breath as she tilted her head to study him, and he was sure her analytical mind was moments away from taking him apart and discovering everything he'd been trying so hard to hide. "There's nothing that's your _fault_. This was a lovely idea, and I feel terrible giving you the impression I don't appreciate it." She looked back at his arm, still hovering in the air behind her. "You shouldn't have to—"

"I don't mind." He forced himself not to blink or look away, trying not to show how conflicted he was. The entire thing was ludicrous, that he would be so affected by something as innocent as putting his arm around her shoulders to stave off the chill. 

She nodded, leaning toward him, and he let his arm curl around her. When she snuggled closer to his side, his eyes fell closed and his breathing slowed as he relished the feel of her next to him. She was still shivering a little, so he ran his hand along her upper arm a few times, trying to warm her up.

"Fitz?" she whispered, tucking her head under his chin. All he could manage was a low hum in response, but that seemed to be enough for her to continue. "Would you be terribly hurt if we missed the view and stayed here for awhile?"

"No," he choked out. "Not at all."


	18. Chapter 18

They were both quiet on the drive back, their shared, subdued mood continuing well into the testing session once everyone else had arrived at Fitz's apartment. They'd invited a truly absurd number of people for this final night, so they had to split up to observe as many of the games as possible. In the cacophony of squeezing test groups onto every flat surface in Fitz's apartment, they hadn't had time to say two words to each other once the night began.

"How are things looking?" Daisy asked, leaning over Jemma where she was sitting cross-legged on the floor, sorting through several pages of notes handed to her by their beta testers.

Jemma gave her a tired smile, groaning a little when Daisy reached down to massage her shoulders for a moment. "The reports I've read so far aren't unearthing anything, even the two groups we directed to play as aggressively as possible. I think we might have a final design."

"Yes, I knew it. You and Fitz rock." Daisy sat next to her, leaning much closer. "Speaking of Fitz," she whispered, "when will I get details about what happened last night? Or today, for that matter?"

Jemma didn't look up from the paper she'd been studying, not wanting to draw any attention to their conversation. "There isn't much to tell, I'm afraid. We fell asleep accidentally last night, as I explained before. As for today, Fitz was kind enough to show me around a bit. A museum, some lunch, and a boat tour of the Charles River. Nothing scandalous, all very platonic."

"He's been moping around all night, Jemma. Every time you're looking somewhere else, I could swear he can't stop himself from staring at you."

"I'm sure you're wrong," Jemma said, trying to put an end to the conversation before it started.

Daisy laughed, fitting an apology in between giggles when Jemma shot her an icy look. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to laugh. It isn't up for debate, though. I've totally seen him doing it."

"Well..." Jemma began, the handwriting on the papers in her hands blurring a bit as her mind raced. "We have to keep an eye on each other, Daisy. This is a very large group and we have to work together to keep the games directed toward the feedback we need to get."

"You have to work together, of course." Daisy nodded, closing her eyes and humming thoughtfully. "I should have thought of that. It's only natural, then, that the two of you would make a point to work _together_ , without talking to each other at all, or even making eye contact as far as I've noticed."

"We don't need to endlessly consult each other, Daisy. Fitz and I both know what needs to be done, and we've merely split up the tasks to ensure nothing falls through the cracks." Jemma uncapped a yellow highlighter and ran it over a few random sentences in one of the player feedback reports, trying to bring the discussion to a close.

Daisy looked both ways again, then leaned even closer. "There's something blocking Fitz from saying anything. I don't know what it is, but Mack's said a few weird things in front of me that make me think he's giving me clues on purpose." On Jemma's panicked gasp, Daisy reached out and patted Jemma's knee, an obvious attempt to reassure her. "I haven't said anything to Mack. What kind of friend do you think I am? Mack's just as protective of Fitz as I am of you, so the hints he's dropping have been too vague for me to figure out what he's trying to tell me."

"Please, Daisy. I truly can't...I can't think about this." Jemma was mortified, wondering if Mack was dropping subtle clues about Fitz's lack of interest in an effort to defuse the situation.

"I get it, we have to work. I can tell you're getting upset, and that's not what I want at all, okay? You're more important to me than any of this—the game, Fitz, anything. I'm ready to listen the minute you need to talk."

"Daisy?" Mack called, from across the room. "Can you play one on one against Bobbi for a game or two? Fitz says we need a few more two player games where both testers are really going for the throat, and you two are about the most savage players we've got."

Daisy brushed Jemma's hand before twisting around, launching directly into a little joking trash talk with Bobbi as Mack helped them set up their next game. Jemma couldn't help smiling as she watched, catching Daisy's eye for a moment and mouthing 'thank you' to her from across the room, Daisy giving her a subtle nod in return.

The games continued, Jemma and Fitz orbiting each other around the room, neither of them in the same place at the same time. She could feel where he was at every moment, as though she'd developed a skill for tracking him without having noticed. The night had nearly come to an end before they finally locked eyes. Looking back at him, she understood why they'd been avoiding each other. Something between them had shifted, changed somehow, and she wasn't sure what it was or how to feel about it.

When everyone was getting ready to leave, chattering over each other and laughing, Jemma was congratulated by more people than she could count as the apartment began to empty. It was soon just Daisy, Mack, Fitz, and Jemma left, sitting around Fitz's table.

"Fitz, did I hear you saying something about Coulson wanting us to call in early? Is there anything we need to go over?" Daisy asked, and Jemma recognized the look in Daisy's eyes. She'd been uncomfortable with long silences for as long as Jemma had known her, and this one had clearly gone on long enough to force her to break it.

"Did I miss a message?" Jemma said, chancing a look at Fitz.

"No, it was an impromptu thing. I sent him a few videos of the games tonight, and he messaged me back to ask if you or I could walk him through a few points in the morning. Coulson's meeting with a representative from the franchise holder before the big call tomorrow and he wanted to see a few things in more detail."

"What did he want to see?" Jemma asked.

"Just a run-through of a few turns, something like that." Fitz paused, and Jemma knew he could see the troubled look on her face. "He explicitly told me there was nothing to worry about, that he liked what he was seeing. He'd just like to be able to give a few more specifics during his one-on-one meeting with the franchise rep."

"Jemma and I can handle it from the hotel tomorrow," Daisy volunteered, giving Jemma a significant look.

"I was going to offer to take care of it on my own. I should have time before I have to be on campus for my lecture," Fitz said, glancing quickly at Jemma before he looked down at the table again. "If Coulson has a question it would be better for you to answer, Simmons, I can message you, or have him call you after we're done."

"I'd feel better if we were both there," she said, knowing she couldn't duck a professional responsibility merely because being around Fitz had become so complicated. "Coulson will surely have questions for both of us, and it would be best for everyone if he's as prepared as possible for the meetings tomorrow."

Fitz nodded. "We can do it here, if you like, as I'll already have the webcam set up for the big call in the afternoon. If we meet with him at ten, that should give us enough time to cover what he needs before I have to leave."

Daisy had begun to make quite a show of yawning, apologizing profusely, but hinting quite heavily that she needed to get back to the hotel and sleep. She and Jemma said their goodnights, slipping out quietly as Fitz and Mack began to tidy up the mess left behind by the testers. 

As they were walking out to the car, Jemma noticed the yawns stopped and Daisy seemed more alert, confirming it had been an act to give them an excuse to leave. Jemma wasn't sure what to say, how to thank her friend for trying to protect her even when she didn't have enough of the details to understand what was wrong.

"I would have offered to take your place tomorrow morning," Daisy said, breaking the silence in the car about halfway back to the hotel, "but I wasn't sure if that was what you wanted. I know that sounds like pressure, like I'm trying to get you to spill the beans, but it's not. Just...maybe if you can't tell me what's going on, we should figure out some hand signals so I know how to help you?"

Jemma laughed despite herself, appreciating Daisy's ability to lighten the mood.

"Oh, Daisy, there's nothing to tell, I'm afraid. I'm sure you can tell that I've completely fallen for the berk." Jemma bit her lip, willing her voice not to quiver. "Whenever I start to think that he might feel the same, he finds a way to gently remind me he doesn't see me that way. He's quite good at it, actually. Perhaps he has students who develop crushes on him every year and he's become adept at making himself clear without embarrassing the other person."

"Jemma, that doesn't even make sense. He looks at you like you're...ugh, I don't know how to put it without sounding like a goddamn greeting card. Like you're everything. That's how he looks at you."

"Our continued partnership could be quite prolific," Jemma said, refusing to seriously consider what Daisy was saying. "We could be very successful. That has to be what you're seeing, Daisy, and it explains the conflict I keep feeling from him. He can sense my silly crush on him, and he's afraid it will get in the way of the two of us working together. He must be so exasperated with me. He's been very patient and kind. Sympathetic."

"I think you're wrong. You're completely wrong."

"When we discuss what will happen when we've completed this work, he brings up new projects we could move on to." Jemma paused, remembering that he'd actually told her he'd missed her in the week they were apart, but he'd only said it once, and she'd dismissed it as an anomaly. She must be trying too hard to see something that simply wasn't there, giving too much weight to Fitz's off-handed comments. Daisy, however, would seize on that if she knew about it and Jemma would never get her to stop bringing it up. "He's already coming up with ideas for our next game. When he's not talking about that, he's reminding me how far apart Boston and D.C. are."

"If you're so sure, why don't you just ask him?"

Jemma's eyes widened in shock, and she paused for an extra moment before making her right turn to give Daisy a look conveying the utter madness of the idea. "You think I've been making a fool of myself too subtly and I should aim for a total lack of ambiguity instead?"

"You think he knows how you feel about him, right? You wouldn't be telling him anything he hasn't figured out. Get it out in the open. You want to at least be friends and work together again, don't you?" Jemma nodded, about to protest when Daisy cut her off. "You'll never get over feeling awkward around him if you don't talk this through. If he really isn't interested—and I think that's total crap, by the way—just get it over with. Show him you can handle it, that you can work around it."

"You're completely mad."

"I'm not saying it'd be easy, Jemma, but don't think about the talk itself. Think about afterward. Worst case, you have an uncomfortable conversation, but then you can get past it. Best case, you find out he feels the same way and he just didn't know how to tell you. Either way, you won't have to wonder anymore. You'll kill the tension. It's probably the only way you'll be able to work with him again, which, if you recall, is what you said you wanted."

"I can't."

"You have to. You will, unless you want this uncomfortable, unspoken whatever-it-is to get so big that it kills everything. Forget living happily ever after, we're talking no friendship, no partnership, nothing. I've watched both of you. Whatever this is, it's not going away on its own."

"Daisy..."

"I get it. You can't decide now. Just think about it, okay? I hate seeing you like this." Daisy reached over and rubbed Jemma's shoulder as they pulled into the parking lot at the hotel, but even Daisy's earnest concern did little to make her feel better.

* * *

The moment the door closed behind Daisy and Jemma, Fitz dropped the game pieces he'd been putting away and slumped back into his chair. The only way he'd gotten through the evening without blurting out an embarrassing confession and putting Jemma in the awkward position of letting him down easy was by avoiding her entirely. He'd hardly be able to do that in the morning, when it would be just the two of them, and worse, they'd be on a video call with Coulson. If he couldn't hold himself together the next day, it could impact his career as well as his private life.

He fell forward, letting his forehead bang into the table. Mack was somewhere behind him, given away by his low, sympathetic chuckle.

"Fitz, do you want me to be here tomorrow morning? We can make something up, some reason for me to stop by."

"I'm that pitiful, aren't I?" Fitz asked, his face still pressed into the tabletop, voice muffled.

"You don't have to be," Mack pointed out. "You could just talk to her. It doesn't have to be a big deal with declarations of love and the weight of the world on your shoulders. Just be casual. Tell her you think the two of you might work out as something other than friends or business partners, and you'd like to take her out just to see where it goes. You know, no pressure if she's not interested. Make it clear you still value your friendship and partnership either way."

"Why does that sound so simple, but then it seems like the most difficult thing I've ever done when I try to drum up the courage say something like that?" Fitz thought it over, getting up to move around the table, putting the prototypes away in their boxes.

"Because that's how it is," Mack said, shrugging as he started to help Fitz clean up. 

"She found out there were monkeys at the museum, Mack, and she dragged me down there to make sure I got to see them." Fitz looked at Mack's bemused expression, willing him to understand what he was trying to say. "She gets cold in the breeze on a day that's 85 degrees. She frowns at me when I use the wrong whiteboard. We can be shouting at each other one minute, then agreeing the next, and it all leads to something more brilliant than I could ever have done on my own."

"Fitz, sit back down." Mack sat in the chair next to him, leaning forward with a quiet sort of urgency. "You don't just like her. You're in love with her. Maybe your problem isn't just that you're afraid to tell her, but that you aren't sure you're ready to deal with how strong your feelings are. Figure that out, and you'll know what you need to do." Mack's large hand landed heavily on Fitz's shoulder. "But do something. You're both about killing me, and I think Daisy's about to lose it on you too."

Fitz groaned, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyelids as he threw his head back. "Everyone knows, don't they?"

"Everyone but the one person who should." Mack shrugged. "Life's a son of a bitch sometimes, isn't it?"

* * *

Jemma was lying in bed, staring at the ceiling and trying to talk herself into drowsiness. Through the closed door separating the two rooms of their suite, she could hear the pleasant, muffled sound of Daisy's voice, a rhythmic undercurrent of contented, unintelligible words. Jemma was certainly happy for Daisy and her budding romance, though she had to admit, she also felt a bit envious. 

Sighing loudly and scrubbing her hands over her face, she peeked between her fingers at her phone on the bedside table. She picked it up, thumbing the gallery open, and she began to look through the photos she'd taken earlier that day. 

She blinked a few times, certain she must be missing something, and then realized she hadn't taken a single photo during the boat tour. Closing her eyes, she remembered the warmth of his arm around her shoulders chasing away the chill from the wind and the way his low-pitched voice had rumbled in his chest against her cheek. She'd melted against him, wanting so badly to ask what they'd become to each other, but she'd come just short of summoning the courage.

Her stomach twisted into knots and she curled up, pulling the sheets closer around her body. She hated to admit it, but Daisy was right. She couldn't have a real relationship with Fitz—not a partnership, not friendship, and certainly not more than that—if they didn't discuss the odd way they vacillated between complete ease and total discomfort with each other. After they'd delivered their final design and there was less at stake, Jemma knew she'd have to find the words somehow. 

She flipped onto her back, looking through the pictures she'd taken. The first shots were of the optical illusions exhibit and Jemma could remember standing there with Fitz, bouncing ideas back and forth for another board game. She swept those images off the screen, trying not to think about a future that seemed too uncertain at the moment, one she might have to put at risk to be honest with him.

Their day played out in reverse through a blur of cotton-top tamarins, solar system diagrams and dinosaur bones, until she came to the first shots she'd taken. She looked wistfully at the pictures of the two of them, smiling into the lens with the museum behind them. Paging through them, she remembered the feeling of squeezing into the frame next to him, and then gasped as she found the photo that was different from the others.

While she was looking directly into the camera in the photo, Fitz wasn't. He'd pulled away a little, his eyes on her instead of looking forward. This was the last one she'd taken before they walked toward the museum, but her heart beat faster as she allowed herself to take in the expression on his face. 

She'd seen this look once before. It was the one he'd worn just before he'd surged forward and kissed her that night in her workroom, back in D.C.


	19. Chapter 19

_The next morning_

Jemma felt silly, sitting in her car about a block away from Fitz's apartment. She'd left the hotel early, anxious about the meeting and the notorious Boston traffic possibly making her late. When she'd arrived in record time, she'd stayed outside, unable to picture how she and Fitz would handle the extra minutes alone.

She winced, letting her head fall back against the headrest as she squeezed her eyes shut, wondering when she'd become so ridiculous that hiding in her car seemed like an appropriate response to her problems. 

Glancing at her phone to check the time, she hesitated for a moment and then brought up the picture she'd stared at the previous night. She couldn't reconcile any of it. This image, their kiss, the feel of his hand in hers, and the way his arm curled perfectly around her shoulders didn't fit with the man who was otherwise strictly professional with her, even distant at times. Nothing made sense.

Long before she felt ready, it was time for her to go. She took one last, deep breath as she got out, pausing again as she moved to lock the doors. She walked slowly down the sidewalk, trying to let the crisp breeze refresh her. She was exasperated with herself for stalling this way, and allowing her personal feelings to affect her professional behavior.

Fitz was sitting on the steps outside the building when she came around the bend, a cup of tea in his hands and another sitting beside him. His cup was close to his lips, as though he was about to take a sip, but he hadn't moved at all in the long moments she'd been watching him as she neared his building.

"Fitz?" she called out, hoping she wouldn't startle him into burning himself.

There was a beat before he seemed to react, greeting her with a distracted-sounding, "Simmons," as he put down his cup, picking up the other to offer to her.

She took it, but caught his arm in her other hand, worried that something truly awful had happened. He seemed a thousand miles away, returning slowly to himself as he retrieved his tea and took a tentative sip.

"Fitz, what's—"

"Sorry." He blinked up at her, seeming a bit more like himself and she released his arm, taking a step back. "I slept terribly, so I came out here, hoping the fresh air and caffeine would wake me up." He managed a smile, accompanied by a shrug as he drained the last swallow from his cup.

"Worried about the teleconferences today?" she asked, finding herself examining his reaction in more detail than was probably healthy for her to think about.

"I..." he trailed off, looking into her eyes for a long moment as she froze in place, staring back, Jemma's mind racing to find an explanation for his odd behavior. "Yes," he said, his shoulders sinking a little into his breathless sigh. "I know how much we have at stake today. I wanted to make sure I had my head on straight before we had to face it."

"I spent too much of the night thinking through worst case scenarios myself," she admitted, hoping the universe would forgive the little white lie she was telling to explain the dark circles under her eyes. "I'm sure we're both being silly. Our testing seems to indicate we can be quite confident in what we've put together."

Fitz nodded, looking thoughtful as he stared into his empty cup. She couldn't place his mood, though she thought she'd seen every side of him he'd been willing to show her. Perhaps he truly was worried for them, still uncertain how their design would be received. He certainly seemed to be dreading the meeting.

"It's ten 'til," he noted. "We should probably get inside and start setting up." He turned toward his building without another word and Jemma clutched her cup and followed him inside, uneasy about the rest of the day.

* * *

They got off to a bit of a rough start, the two of them more out of sync than they'd ever been as they stood next to the game board in front of his webcam. Fitz winced when their hands collided mid-air several times as they both reached for the dice or counters at the same time, but they found their rhythm once Coulson began to pepper them with questions. The awkwardness that still hung over them from the night before gradually dissipated, allowing them to move in concert again. As they walked Coulson through each clarification, he noticed they'd begun to finish each other's sentences, brushing against each other as they traded items mid-explanation instead of colliding. 

They were a little over an hour into their conference when Fitz began to feel antsy about the time, wondering how much more Coulson would need from them before they could end the call. The meeting had started late after there'd been some technical problems on QRG's side, and while Fitz was glad the kinks had been worked out before the more important call later in the day, he'd need to leave soon to make his lecture on time.

Jemma was resetting the game again, preparing an example of two players competing to control the same resource when Fitz leaned over to grab a notepad and a pen. He quickly scrawled, _'My lecture starts in 40 minutes. Please help!'_ on it and pushed it across the table to her.

He watched her eyes stray from the game pieces she was arranging to read his message and she nodded, never breaking the rhythm of the explanation she was giving Coulson. This was his fourth "one last question" and Fitz was starting to wonder how nervous Coulson had to be to grill the two of them this completely on concepts Fitz felt they'd covered before.

"As you can see," Jemma said, rolling two dice to decide which player would control the resource, "determining the winner of each conflict is quite straightforward, though experienced players will find many ways to swing the outcome of each altercation in their favor."

"Yes, that's very clear now," Coulson said, his slightly pixelated image on the screen nodding at them, but then he leaned out to consult with someone who was sitting just off-screen. "The two of you should say hello to my Sales Manager, who wanted to sit in this morning but refuses to be in front of the webcam. I think you've both met Melinda before, haven't you?"

Jemma and Fitz both greeted her as Coulson angled the camera to reveal the formidable Melinda May sitting next to him, her expression mild as she complimented them on the quality of the design they were delivering.

"May was instrumental in the pitch with the license-holder, the only reason I was able to get it, really," Coulson said, grinning at the woman sitting next to him. "But about the meeting later today...will Daisy and Mack be able to sit in? We may have an extra project for the two of them related to the launch of the game and we'd like to pitch it to them as soon as possible."

"Yes, absolutely," Jemma answered, her tone crisp and businesslike. "I hope what we've shown you this morning has been informative. Was that all you needed?"

Fitz shot her a look of gratitude, recognizing her attempt to wrap up the call and get him on the way to campus before he was late.

"I think so," Coulson said, looking at May, who nodded her assent. "I guess that's all until tonight. We're going to hit this one out of the park. Great job, Fitz..." he said, nodding at Fitz, "...Simmons," he added, cocking his head at her with a grin. This could kick off a huge expansion for QRG, and I won't forget you in that."

"Thank you so much," Jemma said, and Fitz nodded, smiling awkwardly as he wondered if they'd reached the point where he could cut off the call without it seeming too abrupt. Just when he was about to do it, Jemma reached forward and clicked the mouse, ending the connection.

Fitz jumped immediately to his feet, his mind going in three different directions as he tried to remember everything he had to do before he could leave for his lecture. He was actually grateful he'd been restless enough the night before to get up and pack his messenger bag for the next day, making sure his notes and laptop were inside, along with the physical samples of the experimental power cells he'd been working on to show his students.

"Oh, Fitz. I'm so sorry," she said, and he caught a glimpse of her worried eyes when he looked up from his bag. "I was trying to hurry though with you without giving Coulson the _impression_ we were doing it, but I'm afraid it just wasn't enough to—"

"No, no. You were brilliant, Simmons. I should have asked to start at nine and given myself more time. You and I both know that when Coulson asks for a 'minute of your time'—"

"It's more like an hour." Jemma said, smirking at him as he got up. "Yes, I've experienced that phenomenon before."

"Can I walk you out? I hate to rush you, but..." he apologized, but she was already on her way across the room to grab her own bag.

"Of course, Fitz. Don't be silly. Let's get you on your way." Jemma followed him out, raising her eyebrow at him when they paused for him to lock his front door. "Did you notice the points Coulson asked about, the way he was phrasing the questions...didn't it seem as though he was asking about how the theming might layer over the structure we have? Everything he confirmed with us, doesn't it suggest..." She trailed off, but her implication was clear.

"It did seem to fit in with my theory about the property we'll be theming to, didn't it?" He wasn't able to suppress his grin, though he was still trying to keep his expectations moderate to avoid disappointment if they were wrong.

"It did," she whispered, looking as excited as he felt.

He got in his car, putting out his arm to block Jemma's attempt to close the door behind him. She gave him an amused look, cocking her head to the side as she laughed.

"I've never been much of an optimist, Jemma, but after that hour with Coulson, I honestly can't imagine this next telcon going badly. I was wondering...would you like to go to dinner with me tonight to celebrate?" He watched her blush and look at her feet, his stomach clenching as he worried she was trying to think of a gracious way to decline.

"I..." she began, "I think Daisy's quite got her heart set on calling Lincoln after we're done, as it's his night off. I don't think she'd want to come along."

He caught her eye when she finally looked up at him and he searched for some clue to what she was thinking, though the undercurrent of panic flowing through him had short-circuited every logical part of his brain that could have helped him decipher it.

"I was thinking it would be just the two of us." He watched her eyes widen, holding his breath until she smiled at him, her fingers worring at the buckle on the front of her bag.

"Yes, of course. I'd like that," she said.

He didn't want to tear his eyes away from her, and his hand moved blindly to connect his keys with the ignition until he found it. She stepped back, still looking back at him, as he twisted his wrist to start the engine. It took three tries and a concerned look coming over her face to finally pull his focus back to his car, and he realized belatedly that the engine was not going to turn over.

"Bloody hell," he moaned, letting his forehead smack into the steering wheel as he wondered why his car would choose this moment in particular to betray him. He turned the keys once more and watched for any signs of life, desperately trying to find some easy-to-fix reason his car wouldn't be starting. He got his answer when he examined the lever to the left of the steering wheel. "Shite," he whispered. "I left the headlamps on last night. They must have drained the battery."

"Come on," she said, and he yelped as she grabbed his hand and pulled him out. "I'll get you there." She'd already yanked him two steps down the narrow driveway when he planted his feet and stopped them. 

"Simmons, I need my bag, at least, and you don't have to do this. I can call my TA and—"

"Get your bag and let's go, Fitz. We don't have any time to waste." She held the keys out to him and he stared at them, confused, as he pulled the strap to his bag over his head.

"I'm sure you're perfectly capable of driving your own car, Simmons."

"It'll be faster if you drive. This way you we won't take the chance of me mishearing your directions and making a wrong turn." She shook the keys at him, nodding her head for emphasis.

He grabbed the keys and glanced at his watch, cursing again as he looked around for her car, but she was already jogging down the sidewalk away from his building.

"I'm this way," she called, over her shoulder. "I couldn't find a space any closer."

By the time they got to her car and he pulled away from the curb, he had to fix his eyes on the road to avoid the twin distractions of the time ticking away on the dashboard clock and Simmons sitting in the seat next to his, clutching his bag and looking worried.

* * *

"That's it, just there," Fitz said, his voice strained as he pointed ahead of them to a long, elegant building with a glassy, almost mirror-like facade. He stopped the car for a moment near a small parking lot across from the building, looking between the swing-arm gate at the entrance and then over at her, before he turned into the lot.

"Simmons, the front pocket of my bag? I think my keys are in there?"

She felt slow, blinking a few times before she absorbed what he'd said, then managed to find his keys and hand them over. He held the oblong fob on his keyring against the access pad of the gate until it opened for them, then pulled into the first open space.

Jemma was out of the car before Fitz, circling to meet him at the rear of the car with his bag, where she waited impatiently for a moment before she continued toward the driver's seat, leaning down to peer through the window at him. He was struggling with his keys, bent over them and working at them with both hands.

"Fitz," she said, pulling the door open. "What could possibly be so important—"

"You'll have to use the fob to get out," he explained, holding up his keys with a look of exasperation. "I'll need the rest of my keys, but you can't exit the lot without this bloody thing."

"Forget it," she said, taking his hand and hoisting him to his feet. "You simply don't have time. I'll come with you."

"Simmons, it's an hour long lecture and there's another hour of lab time I'll have to oversee afterwards. Between sitting through all that or holing up in my office, I'm not sure which you'd find more boring."

"Yes, spending time in a lecture hall or a lab will be a completely foreign experience for me." She let the sarcasm come through a little to remind him she was no stranger to either. "I know what to expect, Fitz. I can survive a few hours learning something outside my own field if it helps you make your lecture on time."

"Simmons..." Fitz huffed, his shoulders dropping a little as he relieved her of his bag, though he did finally give up fighting with his keys and began to walk toward the building instead.

"In any case, you'll need a ride back, won't you?"

"I will," he conceded. "I'm just sorry that...well..." he said, thinking as they walked the next few paces, "...as it happens, you've ended up here on a rather interesting day. The material I'm presenting strays into territory your degrees more than qualify you to address. Would you mind if I put you to work?"

She thought about it for a moment, trying not to let the struggle show on her face. She'd put everything from her old life out of her mind for years, part of running from the mistakes she'd made. As she looked over at Fitz, his face arranged in a rather adorable, hopeful expression, she nodded. She simply couldn't say no to him.

* * *

Jemma settled herself near the back of Fitz's lab space, watching him interact with his students as they filed in. Several of them immediately began to compete for his attention, looking for an office hours appointment or advice on the end-of-term project he'd assigned. Fitz patiently dealt with each one until they were past the scheduled start of the class, when he glanced at his watch and sighed.

"All right, that's all," Fitz said with a sort of businesslike gruffness, waving the students toward their lab tables. "I have plans for my evening, so I have to be finished with you lot on time. That means we need to get started."

There was feigned grumbling as everyone pulled their laptops out, most of them readying for note-taking, but Jemma could see one young man in the corner with his feet up on the windowsill, playing a round of Minesweeper instead of preparing for the lecture. She narrowed her eyes at the back of the student's head, wondering if he understood the value of the opportunity he was missing by mentally checking out.

In the meantime, Fitz had plugged a flash drive into the side of the projector, which was now displaying the first of his slides for the lecture portion of his class. As she read the title, she had to cover her mouth to suppress a laugh.

"I've been thinking quite a lot about chemistry lately," Fitz began, looking out over his students before he locked eyes with Jemma. "It appears we've come to the point in the semester where we all have to dive into another discipline. Let's talk about the nuts and bolts of fuel cell chemistry."

* * *

By the time Fitz's students began the labwork portion of the class, Jemma had long since relinquished her quiet seat in the back of the room to stand at the front with Fitz. He'd fed her topic after topic, also prompting his pupils to ask their own questions, grinning at her from an angle that hid his expression from the class when he addressed her as 'Dr. Simmons'. 

"I hope that was all right," Fitz said, leaning over to her as his students pulled out their tools and schematics. "When you gave such a brilliant answer in the first discussion I pulled you into, I couldn't resist."

"You were testing me, weren't you?" She raised her eyebrow at him as he stammered through an insincere denial. "I've been out of practice for a few years, Dr. Fitz. Did I measure up?"

"You always do," he said, shrugging, his voice lower as his eyes burned into hers.

Her mind, operating partly in biochemist mode and partly in pathetically-stuck-on-Fitz mode, began cataloguing the many reactions he had elicited from her with just three words and a miniscule movement of his shoulders. She could almost picture the adrenaline and epinephrine coursing through her, forcing her heart to race as her breathing quickened. 

"Professor? We're having a difference of opinion here. Could we ask you—"

"On my way," Fitz said, cutting off his student with an outstretched hand, never breaking eye contact. "I'll be right back," he whispered, and her breath caught in her throat at the tone of his voice.

She turned her back to the class, trying to calm the fluttering in her stomach. It felt ridiculous to respond to him this way, to have found him even more attractive as she'd watched him take full command of the class with his lecture, pacing the front of the room with his rolled up sleeves and wry sense of humor. 

"Dr. Simmons?" Jemma turned around, finding the young woman who'd been the quietest during the lecture standing on the other side of the podium, looking at her hesitantly. "I'm Sonya. I really enjoyed the perspective you brought to Dr. Fitz's material. I was hoping...I had an idea to use a particular chemical compound for an experimental battery I've been working on. I wondered if you would take a look at my specifications?"

"Of course, Sonya. I'd be happy to give you my thoughts if they'd be helpful." Jemma caught Fitz out of the corner of her eye as she walked to the lab table. His hands were animated in front of him, acting out a two-stage chemical reaction as the students clustered around looked on with rapt attention. The tug at her heart got stronger, seeing how engaged he was with teaching and the way his students idolized him.

Jemma nodded as Sonya showed her a long list of possible chemical combinations, peppering her with questions about the prospects for using each one. Jemma did her best to give advice, proposing changes and new combinations, but she made a mental note to think more about the questions later and give Fitz a message to pass on for her. She was too preoccupied to truly be helpful at the moment, exhilarated after working side-by-side with Fitz in this entirely new way. The last two hours had made her wonder if there was anything they weren't better at together, rather than alone.

Sonya pointed to a detail in her notes and Jemma used the opportunity to clear her head by stalling for a moment, asking an otherwise unnecessary clarifying question. She couldn't continue this way, pretending Fitz was merely a colleague or business partner to her. With the finishing stages of their game design still looming ahead it was certainly the worst timing imaginable, but Jemma had made up her mind. When she found herself sitting across from Fitz at dinner later that night, she would take Daisy's advice and force herself to be honest with him. She simply wouldn't allow herself to finish the meal with any of it unsaid.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus chapter today, because my beta, lettertoelise, is amazing and helped me plow through the last edits ahead of schedule. :)

_Later that evening_

It was only ten minutes into the second videoconference with Coulson when Fitz was able to share a look with Jemma, laughing a little as she mouthed, _'You were right!'_ to him as she sat by his side in front of the webcam. Twin whoops went up from Daisy and Mack behind them, and Mack's hands fell onto Fitz's shoulders, shaking him in celebration.

"I take it the group welcomes this information?" Coulson suggested wryly, motioning to someone out of frame to join him on his side of the video conference.

"Yes, of course," Jemma answered, her eyes sparkling. "It's beyond wonderful, just as amazing an opportunity as you assured us it would be."

"I'd like to introduce you all to Ms. Hill, representative for the license holder." Coulson gestured to the seat next to him and a stylish-looking woman wearing a dark suit slid into the chair as Melinda May slipped into stand behind both of them.

"You can call me Maria," the woman said, opening a leather-bound notepad she held on her lap. "Phil and I have been talking for the last few hours, going over the videos you've sent and some of your preliminary testing data." She allowed a moment of complete silence to tick by as everyone waited for the verdict to be passed down.

"Come on, Maria, let's not torture them. There's no reason to look so grim," Coulson said, bumping her with his elbow, and the two of them shared a laugh.

"I get precious few opportunities to give feedback like this, Phil. You have to let me enjoy it. Most companies win a license like this and they turn in sub-par work, assuming the strength of the property will sell their product on its own. The last three visits I've done had to be extended by several days while I went over quality control with the numbskulls responsible." She turned to the side, addressing Coulson. "Honestly, you should have seen the art they were going to use on the lunchboxes. It was terrible. It would have put those kids _off_ their lunch."

"I think they're all waiting for the actual feedback, Maria," Coulson prompted.

"Oh, that?" she smirked, the expression quickly giving way to a wide, bright smile. "I think it's perfect. We were concerned the gameplay would be too complex or that it would be too far off-message, thematically, but you've hit the sweet spot. I can easily see how the plot and characters will fit seamlessly into what you have. It's accessible enough for mass market, but with enough strategy chops that it won't alienate the large crossover between my property's existing fanbase and gaming enthusiasts. We don't want you to change a thing, other than applying appropriate theming to it."

Fitz couldn't stop himself. He turned toward Jemma to pull her into a victory embrace, finding her partway through reaching for him when their eyes locked. He pulled her into his chest, feeling her arms winding around his waist. He whispered, "We did it," into her ear and he felt her nodding against him, her arms tightening to pull him closer.

Realizing where they were and remembering they had an audience, he reluctantly let her go, only to be pulled to his feet and into a much more boisterous group hug by Daisy and Mack. They were all flushed and laughing when they parted a moment later, Fitz's cheeks warming a bit when he saw Coulson, May, and Maria looking pleased for them in the image on the screen in front of them.

"I've looked over your proposed schedule with Phil, and he's assured me we'll be in production in time to sync your release to the movie's premiere weekend." Maria glanced at Coulson, who nodded back. "We'd like to talk to Daisy about coding another app for us, to be delivered as soon as possible. It would be a simple alternate reality game for the mobile platform, something to tease a few spoilers for the material in the movie that goes beyond the books. We'd work with you and contract you through QRG to keep synergy with the board game. I think Phil's just sent you a text with your proposed additional compensation for the project?" Maria gave a questioning look to Coulson, who held up his phone and shook it at the camera.

Daisy pulled her phone out of her pocket to check her messages, her hands shaking the tiniest bit as her eyes widened in momentary shock. To her credit, though, she composed herself quickly, moderating her voice as she looked confidently ahead. "You have a deal. The companion app for the game is almost finished, and Fitz and I have done the bulk of the programming for the randomizing, electronic section of the board. I should be able to move on to this right away."

"Mack, we'll also be bumping your compensation if you can squeeze in the creation of some art assets for the new app. Hopefully you can pull most of it from what you'll need to put together for the board game and it won't impact the schedule too much?" Coulson said all of this with his head down, tapping on his phone, and Mack's phone beeped after he was done.

"Yeah, I can get this done," Mack confirmed, his eyes also a bit wider as he took in the figures. "Won't be a problem, and the schedule won't slip at all."

"Where did you find this group, Phil?" Maria asked. "I wish I had ten more just like them."

"Hands off, Hill, they're mine," Coulson joked, twisting in his seat to look at May as she stood behind him. "Melinda, what about that other thing? Is it in place?" Coulson asked.

May gave a single nod, looking down at her own phone, and Fitz nearly startled out of his chair when the buzzer for his front door sounded.

"That'll be my messenger." Coulson smirked coolly as Mack put his hand on Fitz's shoulder to keep him in place, heading to the door himself. "The package he's delivering has revised contracts and non-disclosure agreements that you'll all need to sign. Daisy's and Mack's paperwork includes provisions for their additional deliverables and compensation. Fitz and Jemma, yours have a new bonus structure built into them, profit-sharing opportunities after we hit certain thresholds of units shipped. Take your time and read them over, but we need them back and signed as soon as you're comfortable with what we're offering."

"Phil? You forgot—" May began, frowning a little when Coulson cut her off.

"I didn't forget, May. I was waiting until Mack came back...ah, there we go." Coulson rubbed his hands together as Mack returned with the box in his hands. "Also in the box? We sent you a screener copy of the movie, along with a hard drive we loaded with art assets for you to use, Mack. There should be shots of props, costumes, stills of the characters...just about everything you should need to get started."

"I'm sure I don't need to say this," Maria said, leaning slightly in front of Coulson, "but we've put in a few safeguards to ensure we can trace an information leak back to your group if someone violates their non-disclosure. We're serious about avoiding any unintended leaks. I'm sure once you see the new material, you'll understand why."

"Absolutely," Jemma said. "I feel confident speaking for the four of us on this, and I can assure you there's no reason for concern."

"I think we can wrap up then," Coulson said, standing up to peer more closely into the camera. "We'll be in touch, all right?"

They were barely able to answer before Coulson cut off his end of the call, and the four of them stared at each other, standing in a loose circle, until Daisy let out another whoop and crashed into Jemma for a hug.

"This is amazing," Fitz overheard Daisy whispering into Jemma's ear. "Thank you so much for bringing me in. I can't believe it."

Jemma held Daisy out at arm's length. "You deserved this, Daisy."

"Hell, we all deserve this," Mack said, and his easy, low laugh was contagious as they all tore into the package at once, pulling out each other's contracts and looking for the screener DVD.

* * *

Fitz stole away to the kitchen a few minutes later, opening a few cabinets in search of a bag of microwave popcorn he was sure he'd seen stuffed behind something recently, but he couldn't remember where.

When he finally found it, he looked over at his friends as they all paged through their contracts. It didn't take long before Jemma was searching through her bag for a pen, celebrating with the other two after they'd passed it around to sign their copies of the paperwork.

He thought back to how flustered he'd been during his lecture, bringing her into the presentation when her mere presence at the back of the room had blanked his mind and he needed a moment or two to recover. She'd been perfect, of course, slotting right into the flow of his lesson plan and giving his students expert guidance despite the years she'd spent outside her fields of study. 

Witnessing her extraordinary brilliance yet again made him feel worse for finding her so distracting. Her competence and skill at nearly everything he'd ever seen her do should inspire him to want to work with her, to respect her enough to keep his head down and create the sorts of things he simply wasn't capable of on his own.

He couldn't put her out of his mind, couldn't quell the desire to pull her closer, hold her hand, put his arms around her. He hated himself for it, for not being able to put it behind him when he had little evidence that Jemma thought of him as anything but a friend and a design partner.

Mack had been right about two things, and Fitz closed his eyes as he allowed himself to consider both of them again. First, he'd been an idiot. He'd nurtured the crush that began growing almost the moment he'd laid eyes on her, leading him to where he was now—utterly and completely in love with Jemma Simmons. Second, it was his job to figure out how to deal with that. Jemma hadn't asked for this, and shouldn't have to shoulder any of the burden. It wasn't what Mack had been trying to convince him to do, but as he'd thought it over the night before, the answer had become clear.

As soon as the theming of the game was finished, Fitz had to cut Jemma out of his life. He should only contact her if he managed to shake these one-sided feelings out of his system completely, though he couldn't imagine how he'd ever get to that point. It wasn't her fault that he'd found a way to misinterpret every friendly or innocent gesture she'd made toward him, and he would ensure the fallout from his unrequited interest never touched her.

"Fitz, did you find it?" Jemma's voice came from across the room, and he took one last deep breath before he turned around, holding up the bag of popcorn.

"Just need to get it in the microwave," he called, bending to get a large bowl from the lower cabinets. When he stood up, he nearly jumped back, discovering she'd managed to sneak over to him and was now standing right beside him.

"About dinner, Fitz." She frowned a little, a delicate indentation forming between her eyebrows. "I'd quite like to talk to you about something. It's a bit private, I suppose. I was wondering if you might agree to ordering in instead of going out?"

"Sure," he agreed, trying to seem unaffected. 

Perhaps she would do the work for him and take this opportunity to tell him she'd changed her mind about working on another project with him after this one was done. He didn't know what else she might have to say to him that couldn't be said in public. Though some cowardly part of him would be relieved if she told him she couldn't work with him again, the acute sense of disappointment that rolled through him at the thought made him feel rather ill.

"Marvellous. Thanks," she said, nervously wringing her hands.

"I'll be in with the popcorn in a moment." His heart raced with mild panic as she stepped toward him, biting her lip indecisively.

She came up on her tiptoes before he could register how close she'd gotten, her hands brushing lightly against his chest just for a moment to steady herself as she gave him a quick peck on the cheek. "I'm so glad, Fitz...I can't express to you how much...that we both signed those initial contracts."

He nodded, though the gesture was useless. She'd already turned around, heading back to the living room to sit next to Daisy on the couch. Fitz squeezed his eyes shut, wondering how much it would hurt when he had to let her go.


	21. Chapter 21

Daisy leaned over, her eyes glistening with tears. "Jemma, is it just me? Or was that—wow. I mean, _wow_. They did an amazing job on that movie."

"It was quite good, I agree," Jemma said, watching over Daisy's shoulder to make sure Fitz and Mack were both out of earshot. "Daisy, quickly, before they come back. Would you mind asking Mack if he'd give you a ride back to the hotel? Fitz and I are planning to—"

"Oh my god, don't even finish that sentence." Daisy giggled, grabbing Jemma's hands and shaking them, a tiny, quiet squeal escaping from her. "I don't have to know what you're planning. If you need me to get out of here with Mack so you can be alone, I'm on board."

"Daisy, please. It's not—"

"Don't blink, Jemma, or you'll miss me getting the hell out of here with Mack." Daisy grinned at her, pulling herself to her feet and heading straight to where Mack and Fitz were talking in the kitchen.

"Hey, Daisy. I gotta get back to my graphics rig with this hard drive and get started. Thought you might need a ride, since Fitz here said he and Jemma might want to jump right into making some theming decisions." Mack twirled his keyring on his thumb and Daisy didn't need to be asked twice. With hardly a word, she grabbed her bag and waved to Jemma, all but disappearing in a puff of smoke.

Jemma looked down at her lap, noticing her hands were actually shaking a bit at the thought of the discussion she knew she and Fitz were about to have. She was tempted to dive in before she could change her mind, desperate not to spend hours dreading what was to come, but she didn't want to risk Fitz feeling ambushed. Deciding to wait at least until they sat down to dinner, she twisted around, watching Fitz as he shuffled through the items in his desk drawer.

"Not sure what you're in the mood for, Simmons," Fitz called, holding up a handful of take-away menus. "There's a Thai place around the corner that delivers. More exciting than pizza or Chinese, maybe?"

"The only difficulty I'll have there is deciding which dish to have. I love Thai food."

"How are you with yellow curry? Chicken?" Fitz peered over the menu at her and she drank in the domesticity of it. If things didn't go well during the conversation she was resolved to have with him tonight, she realized this might be the last casual, easy dinner she'd ever have in his company.

"Perfect, actually," she said, forcing a smile. "Can't go without some sort of curry, although I have to admit, I'll be a bit disappointed if I don't get at least a small taste of some Pad Thai."

"Large yellow curry with chicken, large Pad Thai, then. They do this thing...Krathong Tong, as an appetizer. It's supposed to be one of the more authentic dishes."

"Yes. Let's do it." She got up and started toward her bag, but he waved her away.

"I invited you to dinner, Simmons. You aren't stealing the check from me again."

Jemma sunk back into the couch, nodding to him. "Under protest."

He called the restaurant, pacing around the apartment as Jemma watched his restless wandering and wondered what she should say. Everything other than the dinner conversation she was determined to have later in the evening seemed irrelevant, but a nervous smile tugged at her lips the moment she realized they had common ground they'd always be able to go back to together. 

"I have a proposal for you, Fitz. I'd like to suggest we allow ourselves this time, while we're waiting for the food to arrive, to discuss the theming of the game. After dinner's delivered, however, it is a banned topic."

"More than reasonable. Work at the table?" he suggested, taking a seat and gesturing to the one across from his.

Jemma got up and moved, both of them starting to talk at the same time and awkwardly insisting the other should begin. Finally, Fitz leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest and was quiet, waiting for her to start.

It didn't take long for them to warm into the discussion and Jemma realized right away that they both had similar ideas after watching the movie screener. They began to work out the details, with so much material falling neatly into place that Fitz was compelled to slide over a seat to his laptop, taking notes as quickly as he could type.

"This proves what an amazing job you did storyboarding, creating the provisional theming that fit the original parameters we were given." She beamed at him, watching a pink flush start under his collar and move upward to his cheeks. "It directed the system design so effectively that no one would guess we didn't know the franchise we'd be working with from the start."

"Yes, well..." he said, blushing and scratching his scruff as he absorbed the compliment. "We've decided on the theming for our currency and the turn order totem. Those seem set in stone. If we move on to—" Fitz began, stopping mid-sentence when his buzzer sounded. "Time's up, I suppose."

He disappeared downstairs to retrieve the food and Jemma made herself useful setting up the table. She paused, her hand hovering next to Fitz's plate about to set down his fork, worrying as the time for her confession neared. It was impossible to decide how to start, if leading up to it with a longer explanation or just jumping in and going for shock value would be the better approach.

The latter would be more likely to get his honest reaction and had the added virtue of being over more quickly. She could certainly see the appeal, though she wasn't sure it was entirely fair to Fitz to blindside him that way. 

She sleep-walked through the apartment to get their drinks as she considered Daisy's advice to use the most concise language possible, arranged into the most direct, unambiguous proposition she could manage. Of course, Daisy hadn't put it quite that way. She'd said something more like, 'Just tell him you want his bod, Jemma, and yank him toward you for a—' 

"Simmons?" Fitz's confused voice came from just a few feet away.

She looked up, realizing she was standing next to his open refrigerator, holding a bottle of water in each hand and staring into space. "Sorry. Lost in thought about the theming." She cringed inside, mortified that she'd resorted yet again to lying.

"You're the one who banned any discussion of—"

"I wasn't discussing it. I was thinking about it privately, and we haven't officially started dinner yet."

"No points docked, then, Simmons," he said, chuckling as he started to remove takeaway containers from the paper bag he'd deposited on the table. "But it's a technicality at best."

They settled in to eat, the business of filling their plates negating the need for conversation at first. Once they sat across from each other with their forks scraping across their plates, the silence seemed much more damning.

"Fitz," Jemma began, after closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, and the awareness that this was the most daring thing she'd ever done in her personal life slammed into her, momentarily robbing her of the courage to push forward.

"Sorry, do you need the curry? I'm monopolizing the container, aren't I?" Fitz held out the box to her, and all Jemma could do was stare at his hand, unable to answer at first.

"I'd like to talk about what happens after we're finished," she finally choked out. The box of chicken curry dropped out of his hand, nearly toppling over as it landed heavily on the table. "When the game is complete," she added, forcing herself to look at him, her stomach tightening when she took in his anxious expression.

"Do you mean...what will happen with the game after that?" He wouldn't meet her eyes, staring at his plate as though he was trying to memorize its contents.

She was tempted to take his misunderstanding and run with it, pretend she was unable to make it through dinner without violating their agreement not to talk about the game after the food arrived. It was only the memory of her private resolution to address this tangled mess of emotions and uncertainty with Fitz that convinced her to plow ahead.

"No," she said, quietly, looking down and pushing the remnants of her dinner around with her fork. "I mean with us, Fitz."

"Should we work together again, do you mean?" Fitz grabbed his glass and took a long gulp of water before he continued. "I've been thinking about that."

"About designing another game?" She glanced up at him, her chest tightening when she saw how miserable he looked. Feeling a strange, discordant mixture of disappointment and relief that he seemed willing to speak first, she nodded, prompting him to start.

"I know we've talked about ideas for another project. I've brought up the prospect myself of what we could move on to next." He paused, his mouth tightening as he took in a slow, shaky breath through his nose, his hands restless on the table in front of him. "I've given it more thought since then, Simmons, and I've changed my mind. I think it's a bad idea."

It felt like the floor had fallen out from under her as she blinked her tears back. She'd taken his professional interest in working with her for granted, a saving-grace consolation prize if he felt nothing more than friendship for her. "You...you don't think we should collaborate again?"

"Look at it objectively, Simmons. You've got a room full of modules already designed. You hardly need me to help you put out a game. When you factor in the geographical distance and the differences in our work styles that I know must drive you spare—"

"All right, Fitz," she said, willing him to stop talking.

"And we've been in such close quarters, Simmons...I'm sure you're sick of having to look at my face every day. You must be dying to get back to your life as it was before this project fell into our laps."

"You've said enough," Jemma said, willing herself not to cry even as she felt her throat closing and the the sting of moisture welling more insistently in her eyes. "I understand completely, Fitz."

"Jemma...I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"

"Was it that terrible?" she asked, deciding she had nothing to lose, given his complete disinterest in everything to do with her. If the evening was to be filled with disappointment, she might as well get the full truth. "Working together? We have disagreements, of course, but you finish my sentences, Fitz, and I finish yours. I've never—" She stopped, knowing it wasn't a huge step she was about to take, but the implications of what she was about to say would destroy her last opportunity to keep the conversation strictly platonic, "—felt this way about anyone before."

"I haven't either," he said, looking like he was also about to cry, and she wondered why he would excise her from his life this way if it was so upsetting to him. "I know you could be professional about it, Jemma, but I can't. Not every day, long term. It isn't fair to you, and I've hated myself for weeks for feeling this way."

His words burned in her ears, the final proof that he'd known, probably for ages, about her feelings for him. Feelings he clearly didn't return. "It isn't your fault," she began, trying to get the words out before she had to run. "You can't force something that isn't there, Fitz. This is..." She trailed off, hiding her face in her hands, "...absolutely mortifying."

"This is exactly what I didn't want," he insisted, and she heard him coming around the table to crouch next to her. 

"I shouldn't have said anything, should I? I've ruined it all." She turned to angle herself away from him and whispered, mostly to herself. "Why couldn't I keep my bloody mouth shut?" Crying in front of him was another indignity she apparently wouldn't be spared, as hot, frustrated tears began to run down her cheeks. She swiped them angrily away, berating herself for her lack of control. Poor Fitz was trapped here, having to watch her break down simply because he didn't return her feelings.

"If you hadn't said something, I would have. I'd originally intended to wait until the game was done. Having this between us while we still had to work together seemed like a bad idea, but I don't think I could have made it through this evening without saying something. It's really become...too much to ignore, I'm afraid."

Jemma squeezed her eyes closed, a panicked tightness settling in her chest as she realized how difficult Fitz must have found the situation, forever having to pretend not to notice how she felt. It seemed she'd spent months deliberately misinterpreting his behavior towards her, inflating the importance of every considerate gesture or look they'd shared. "It must have been quite bothersome for you, Fitz. I can't tell you how sorry I am."

"You must absolutely despise me." His voice was quiet, and she could hear the resignation in it. 

Ahead of her, she saw a lifetime of awkward greetings when they bumped into each other at a convention, the ghost of their partnership hanging over them as they endured insincere small talk in an effort to be cordial. That was all she had left with Fitz, and she was already mourning the friendship they could have had if she'd just left it alone.

"Why would I be angry with you, Fitz? It's my fault. If I could have kept this to myself—"

"I knew you'd think it was your fault, Jemma, but I don't know _how_ you could think that. You've given me no reason to suspect you might—" he said, his voice breaking as put his hand over hers briefly, pulling away again when her eyes were drawn to where they were joined. "This is obviously my failing. If I could have been the partner you deserve, kept my feelings reined in, you wouldn't be in this position. I know this whole mess makes it seem that I don't respect and admire your talent, but I promise you, that's not true."

She turned toward him to look into his eyes, confusion settling over her as she took in what he'd said. If he was ending their professional relationship because he knew she'd fallen in love with him and he didn't feel the same, he shouldn't be talking about his respect for her, or keeping _his own_ feelings under control.

"I can work through it when I have to, Jemma," he continued. "I just can't do it indefinitely. It'd be too painful to see you, even just to talk to you every day and know I'd never be more than a design partner or friend to you. It wouldn't be fair to ask you to put up with that. I'm hoping I can accept it someday, and I'm planning to turn the world upside down trying to find you as soon as I can get it through my thick skull. Working with you has been amazing, every single moment. It would have been the best months of my life if I hadn't been a heartbroken idiot for most of it."

Jemma laughed as the pieces came together, clamping her hand over her mouth to try to hold her reaction back the moment the puzzle solved itself. She simply couldn't help it, and she was unable to stop even at the terribly wounded expression on Fitz's face.

She leaned toward him, her giggles dying away as she cupped his cheeks in her hands. He started to pull away, bewilderment coming over his face as she willed him to understand.

"Fitz. No more games."

She closed the distance between them, her fingers playing over the scruff on his jaw and coaxing him toward her, their lips meeting as a surprised-sounding noise escaped him. The sound was muffled against her lips, the vibration shooting straight through her and making her fingers twitch along his jawline.

Her hands moved, brushing lightly along his ears and his neck before they threaded into his hair, pulling him deeper into the kiss. His arms finally slipped around her, nearly dragging her out of the chair as he moaned, dipping his tongue just inside her mouth as she shivered against him.

"Jemma," he growled, breaking the kiss just long enough to brace his forehead against hers, his hands trembling on her back. She pulled back a little, wanting to look into his eyes, but he leaned forward, his lips chasing hers until they were together again. She pushed back, her fingers tangling in his collar to hold him to her. "God, I've wanted you so much," he mumbled against her, then he moved to drop languid, almost lazy kisses across her cheek as her heart raced in her chest. When he finally settled in the hollow behind her ear, his name was torn from her as she had to cling to him for balance.

"Wait, Fitz," she said, when his words finally cut through the haze in her mind. She sat back, taking in the dark glassiness of his eyes and feeling a bolt of desire settle deep in her stomach. "Is that what this is? Are we just—"

"No," he insisted, his gaze clearing a bit as he blinked at her. "It's not _just_ anything. I'm falling in love with you. I can't think about anything else most of the time. The only reason I haven't told you before now was to keep myself from pushing my ridiculous crush on you, making you think I didn't respect you and your work."

"That is the sweetest, most infuriating thing I've ever heard. It wasn't a ridiculous crush." She got up, tugging him to his feet with her. He pulled her closer, the expression on his face so open and adoring that she was overcome, her throat tightening with emotion as she traced her fingers over his face. He shut his eyes, his chest heaving with deeper, faster breaths. "Crushes are one-sided. I'm falling in love with you, as well, Fitz," Jemma whispered, tucking her head under his chin to brush her lips over the pulse point on his neck. 

His hands fisted in her shirt at the small of her back as he groaned, his head dropping back to give her better access. Her mouth played over him as she took in the slightly salty taste of his skin, and she smiled against him when it hit her that this was all real. "Couch," she mumbled into him, and she could feel his arms tighten around her at the suggestion. "I want to show you what I wished we were doing the last time we were there."

"We were just there for the vidcon with Coulson. Are you saying you were thinking about—" He stopped when she looked up at him, her eyebrow raised. "You probably mean when we woke up together there, and I'm being pedantic."

"Is this what you'd like to talk about?" 

"No," he said, his voice dropping as he took her hand, pulling her across the room with him to collapse in a tangle on the couch. "I don't want to talk about anything."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's the last full chapter. Epilogue coming tomorrow, to tie up a few loose ends.


	22. Epilogue

Jemma finished taping up another box, scrawling the word 'kitchen' on the top and sides as she sat back, sighing with fatigue.

"Moving sucks," Daisy said, perfectly articulating the thoughts in Jemma's tired mind. They both laughed as Jemma handed the tape gun over so Daisy could close the last box they'd packed in that room.

"It certainly is a lot of work," Jemma agreed, stretching side to side to coax the kink out of her back. "To think I've done this twice in as many months..." she began, trailing off as she gave Daisy an amused look.

"Have I told you how grateful I am that you extended your trip here to help me pack?" Daisy said, throwing her arm over Jemma's shoulders. "You could have just gone to the closing on your townhouse and crept out of the city in the middle of the night without even telling me you were here, sparing yourself all this extra labor."

"I would have come back _solely_ to help you move, you ridiculous person."

Daisy's phone buzzed in her pocket and she took it out, her face falling a little as she read the message.

"Lincoln?" Jemma guessed, groaning and pulling Daisy into a hug when she could only manage a halting nod in response.

"We knew today would be bad. He and I decided he shouldn't come over until the truck was full and I was ready to go. Didn't want to drag things out." Daisy settled her cheek against Jemma's shoulder and Jemma rubbed her back, feeling awful that she didn't know what to say.

"Have you discussed—"

"We've discussed everything. We've made every decision imaginable and changed our minds over and over. This thing with us is still so new. I don't know if I feel comfortable with him giving up everything and following me to Connecticut just because I got a job."

"You didn't just get _a_ job, Daisy. You're heading up QRG's new mobile gaming division, and the position is well-deserved." Jemma didn't want Daisy to downplay her achievements, not after it had taken so much for her to regain her self-confidence.

"It wouldn't exist at all without the kick-ass game you and Fitz designed. Those sales records you're setting are a big part of Coulson having the capital to prop up this new department."

"If that's the only thing that came out of this, it would have been worth it. I'm really happy for you, Daisy." Jemma bent her head a little, troubled to see the conflicted look on Daisy's face. "Lincoln is as well, you know. He seems sincere when he talks about how excited he is that you've earned this opportunity for yourself."

"He's selling his stake in the bar," Daisy said, holding up her phone and looking shocked at what she'd just read. "I knew he was talking to his partners about it, but apparently it's official. He's looking for a place to invest in closer to QRG headquarters, putting feelers out with some people he knows."

"And you think...?" Jemma tilted her head, silently encouraging Daisy to talk through it. She understood the difficult decision fairly well, as she and Fitz had recently been confronted with their own version.

"I think I'm okay with that," Daisy said, though her words were cautious. "He's told me over and over he has no particular ties here, that he'd been thinking about a change. If things didn't work out between us, he says he could settle into a new life without feeling resentful. I think he really means it. I just don't want him to move just to keep this thing between us in play, you know? Give up everything, pull up roots..." Daisy trailed off at Jemma's giggle.

"Do you mean the way I—"

"You and Fitz are different, and you know it, evil woman." Daisy pushed out of the hug, pretending to be offended. "The two of you were like, ordained by the universe. There was nothing holding you here, other than those custom bookshelves you kept giving longing looks to as we packed your place up last month."

"I'm at peace with my decision, Daisy. It's all right."

"Fitz is helping you meet the right people to get you into a lab coat again?"

"His contacts have been very helpful," Jemma said, nodding. "It's likely I'll be offered some sort of teaching opportunity before the start of next term. Perhaps even at Tufts, if my next meeting there goes well."

"And that's what you want?" Daisy asked, raising her eyebrow with a smirk as she turned the tables, making sure Jemma was happy with what she'd decided.

"I might never have considered academia, honestly, if I hadn't visited that lecture of Fitz's. I do find it quite compelling, the prospect of influencing the next generation of scientists while also getting access to lab space where pure research is encouraged. It's exciting, finding a way to be involved again."

"I'm really happy for you, Jemma. You deserve it all. I knew you'd have no trouble breaking into teaching, especially since there's about a million colleges in Boston. You were being ridiculous, talking about how you'd be lucky to find an opportunity, given how long you've been out of the field."

"I wasn't so sure, but Fitz said the same thing."

"Did I hear my name being taken in vain?" Jemma whirled around as Fitz came in, looking disheveled after finishing Daisy's living room packing on his own. He pulled Jemma into an embrace, dipping his head to give her a long, slow kiss.

"Ugh, you two," Daisy said. "I don't know why I worked so hard to shove you together."

"We miss you too, Daisy," Fitz said, mumbling the words against Jemma's lips before he captured them again.

"That's the great side-effect of my move. You won't have to miss me, because I'm less than two hours away from you at my new place. Not as good as the ten minute walk we used to have between here and the townhouse, but better than the ten hours between D.C. and Boston."

"Fitz and I will still be working with QRG, as well. He's assured me there's ample time for game design around a teaching schedule. You'll hardly be able to get rid of us."

"Good," Daisy said, squeezing both of their hands in turn. "I should go downstairs to wait for the movers, maybe talk Lincoln into coming by a little early."

Daisy turned and left them in the empty apartment, Jemma's heart swelling at the look of open adoration Fitz gave her as soon as they were alone. He enveloped her in his arms and she sighed into his chest, swaying a little from side to side.

"Jemma?" he began, sounding hesitant, and she hummed in response, relishing the warmth of him suffusing into her cheek. "Do you have any regrets? You seemed a little quiet after the closing yesterday afternoon."

"It's a big change, Fitz," she admitted, but she didn't make him wait long for her to continue. "I'm not sorry I made the decision to move. I would have been a mess without you arguing with me every day."

"We should look for a new place," he proposed. "Something a little bigger, something for us. I've been saving up for a few years. It might be enough for a down payment."

"I have the proceeds from the townhouse, as well," she offered, blinking rapidly when she realized what he'd actually just asked her. "I know I've been staying with you, Fitz, but we hadn't really discussed any permanent—"

"Would you live with me, Jemma?" he asked, the words rushing out from him quickly, as though he'd been practicing them for awhile. "And maybe, when we're sure you can spend that much time around me without wanting to do me in...we could talk about making it even more permanent?"

She pulled back, looking up into his eyes. "Yes, Fitz." She laughed with delight as the smile bloomed over his face. "Of course I will. We should start looking right away. I don't want to wait a second after we get back."

Fitz nodded. "Oh, that reminds me! I was thinking about this while I was browsing some real estate listings..." he trailed off, his cheeks coloring when he realized he'd admitted how how much thought he'd put into the two of them moving in together. "We should do a game about moving, buying a house. Kind of like _Life_ , but updated, more sophisticated, you know?"

Jemma listened as Fitz pitched her his idea, and a vision of her future stretched out before her as he spoke. For the first time in a long time, she felt complete. She held up a hand to stop him and he smirked, probably thinking she was about to argue against a point he'd just made about the new game design.

"I love you, Fitz. Did you know that?"

"I do," he said, his voice rough and low. "I may need you to keep reminding me, if you don't mind. Sometimes it's a little hard to believe."

"As many times as you need," she whispered, pulling him into another kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. That's all.
> 
> I was really nervous about this story, because I've never gone this far AU before for any fic. I wrote nearly all of it before I started posting, so I had no way to know if I was writing it for anyone other than myself. The reception for it, though, has been warm and encouraging and just incredibly lovely, and anyone who has made it to this point has my gratitude. Thank you so much. :)
> 
> I'm considering writing a couple of one-shots in this AU because there were little moments I couldn't spend enough time on without derailing the story. If you have anything you're curious about or that you'd enjoy reading as a supplemental fic in this universe, don't hesitate to let me know. Use the comments here, or feel free to hit me up on my [askbox on Tumblr](http://amanda-rex.tumblr.com/ask) if you have an idea for me.
> 
> And my thanks again to lettertoelise for the beta work and the laughs. I would NOT have wanted to post this without the many changes for the better your suggestions inspired. :)


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